Girl Power Omnibus (Gender Swap Superhero Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Yeah, you said that already.”

  “I’m hoping maybe this time it’ll get through that thick skull of yours.” Dalton comes over to put a hand on Midnight’s shoulder; this time it’s loose enough for her to shake it away. “Listen, sweetheart, it could be a lot worse. You could have ended up three hundred pounds with a club foot and halitosis.”

  “I’m so lucky.”

  “Can you at least promise me you’ll stop interrupting Ms. Cash’s lessons? It’s hard enough for Allison and Starla to adjust without you trying to incite a riot.”

  “Is that all, Principal Dalton? Can I go back to class now?”

  “Sure. I’ll write you a hall pass.”

  Midnight sighs and then trudges back to her room to take a nap before she has to go through another of Cash’s lectures.

  Chapter 6

  The second week of finishing school is dedicated to clothes. Midnight has already learned about basic underpants, but Cash insists on making them try out a wide variety of underwear. Midnight notices Allison and especially Starla are even more embarrassed than she is.

  It gets worse when Cash brings out the bras. “You gals aren’t always going to be stuck in this place. When you do get to go outside, you’ll need these to support your girls.”

  “Do you have a training bra for Robin?” Elise asks with a smug grin.

  Midnight lets this remark pass in the interest of demonstrating more control to Major Dalton. She’ll bide her time and then wait for the right time to pay Elise back. It’s hard when Cash pats her on the shoulder. “Now now, Robin has very nice breasts for a girl her age. Not as nice as mine back in the day, but very good for an average girl.”

  Midnight resists the urge to put Cash in a chokehold. Even with her reduced strength, she’s certain she can snap Cash’s scrawny neck before any of Dalton’s goons can get in here. Starla or Allison might try to stop her, or they might not. No, she just has to keep biding her time.

  The bra she does receive is plain white with thick wires at the bottom. “Is this a push-up bra?”

  Cash pats her on the shoulder again. “Nothing wrong with a little help, sweetie.”

  The benefit of years of posing as a billionaire playboy is Midnight has a lot of experience in taking bras off. It’s not too difficult to reverse engineer the process. The bra is a little loose in the front while the wires at the bottom bite into her skin. She’ll have to ditch the bra as soon as she can.

  At least she got the damned thing on. By contrast, Elise fumbles with the straps of her bra as if tangling with a giant squid. She finally throws it down and cries. Cash wraps her in a hug and strokes her hair. “It’s all right, honey. I’ll help you.”

  Starla is almost as clueless about what to do. Midnight figures it’s because Stan Shaw had about as much experience taking off bras as Ellis Pate or any other homo. Midnight’s always wondered if maybe Apex Man had been keeping another secret identity.

  Allison puts her bra on easily and then goes to help Starla. “You have to hook it in the back here,” she explains. With expert precision she demonstrates the principle. “Maybe Ms. Cash can buy you one that hooks in the front to make it easier.”

  “I can get the hang of it,” Starla growls.

  “Sure. Practice makes perfect,” Allison says with a fake giggle and then sits down to wait for the lesson to continue.

  Midnight sits next to her. “Still no luck getting word out of here?” she asks.

  “I haven’t asked,” Allison says.

  “Your wife has probably reported you missing by now. If we go into the kitchen we might find your face on a milk carton.”

  “I doubt that.” Allison stares down at the floor. “If I could get out of here, it’d only take me a few seconds to get to a phone. I could call her—”

  “And?”

  “What am I supposed to say? The second she hears my voice she’ll know it isn’t me. She’ll probably think it’s a sick prank.”

  “So don’t call her. Send her a letter. Or email. Or text. Something written.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Allison giggles hollowly again. “Maybe throw a bottle in the ocean, right?”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  Starla sits down next to them while Elise and Cash continue their sobfest. “Is it always going to feel this tight?”

  “You probably need a bigger one,” Allison says.

  “I doubt they make bigger ones,” Midnight says.

  Starla’s eyes flash red as if she’s using her IR vision, an unconscious habit when she gets really pissed off. “Can’t you try to take this seriously? We might be this way for a long time.”

  “Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “No you’re not! You’re always making those little jabs and jokes to get under everyone’s skin. I could put up with it before because you were always helpful to the team, but now—”

  “Now what?”

  “Now that there is no team, I’m sick of it. Grow up!”

  “Why should I? I’m only seventeen.”

  “This is what I mean. I’m trying to make a serious point and you turn it into another ironic joke. I want you to know, when we get out of here, we’re through. I don’t ever want to see you again!”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Guys, come on, don’t fight,” Allison interjects. “We’re all under a lot of stress right now. Let’s not say things we’ll regret later.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Starla says.

  “I’m not.” Midnight gets up to move her chair across the room.

  “Fine, go off by yourself. That’s how you’ve always liked it: the lone wolf against the world. See how far you get now!” Starla shouts at her loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

  Midnight pretends not to hear, staring at a wall. She waits for Major Dalton to drag her away by the ear again, but no one comes for her. They all leave her alone. While she should enjoy this, she feels a nervous flutter in her stomach at Starla’s words.

  ***

  The next morning no one else is at breakfast. As Midnight nibbles on a piece of toast, Major Dalton comes in to sit across from her with a cup of coffee. “Is it time for another lecture?”

  “No. I’m just passing the word that the other three are under the weather. They’ll be confined to quarters for the next three to five days.”

  Midnight knows what this means. “Aunt Flo came to visit?”

  “She got Starla first. Her bed looked like she slaughtered a cow in it.”

  “Must be that alien physiology of hers. It exaggerates all her physical properties.”

  “That’s a good theory. And I guess since they were in such close proximity, the other two are on the same schedule.”

  “Great. So can I go back to bed to wait for my turn?”

  “Actually, Ms. Cash is going to do some one-on-one tutoring with you.”

  “I don’t suppose I have a choice about that, do I?”

  “Not unless you can start squirting out blood between your legs.”

  Midnight closes her eyes as if she’s trying to will her period to come. When she opens them again, Major Dalton is shaking her head. “It was worth a shot.”

  Cash isn’t alone in the lounge. There’s a monstrously fat old woman dressed in a muumuu with her. “There you are! This is Patty Ryan. She did my hair and makeup on a lot of shoots back in the day.”

  That day was probably back in the early 80s Midnight guesses. “That’s great. What’s it got to do with me?”

  “Well, you’ve been so sullen through all this, I was wracking my brain trying to think of a way to help. Then I decided we need to give you a total makeover.”

  A vision of ending up like a shorter, redheaded version of Elise pops into Midnight’s head. “I’m fine. I’ve got my bra on today and everything.”

  “Come on, silly, it’ll be fun! When it’s over, I promise you’ll feel like a whole new person!”

  “That’s what I’m
afraid of.”

  Midnight tries to back out of the room, but of course Major Dalton is there. “Just let her try it, Rob. What’ll it hurt?”

  “Fine,” Midnight grumbles.

  Patty Ryan claps her meaty hands. “Wonderful! Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll get to work.”

  Midnight sits on one of the chairs, her body tensing like when one of her enemies used to capture and torture her. This she’s certain will be a different kind of torture. And there’s no Super Squad or police officers to bail her out this time.

  She closes her eyes and practices the breathing exercises she learned from a Buddhist monk in Tibet during her training to become Midnight Spectre. It has been a while since she has tried this and that was back in her male body. The basic muscles are all the same, but there’s a different feeling now since everything isn’t where it used to be. There’s the heaviness at the top of her chest that wasn’t there before while her lower abdominal muscles have atrophied so much. More than that, there aren’t all the familiar aches and pains she had inherited from a decade of battling criminals. All those scars have disappeared thanks to the Feminazi.

  While she considers whether she should be glad about this or not, she hears the rhythmic patter of Ryan’s voice in the background. She isn’t sure when she falls asleep in the chair, but she wakes to Cash saying, “Wake up, sweetheart. Get a look at the new you!”

  Midnight is still loathe to open her eyes. The last time she looked in a mirror, she saw a young girl’s face in place of a thirty-five-year-old man’s. What have they done to her now?

  She finally opens her eyes and nearly tips the chair over. They took her suggestion to cut her hair shorter, down to jaw length now. Most of it is dyed black, but there are streaks of bright red at the ends. Her face has gotten even paler, except for dark circles around her eyes and her black lips.

  “Now, I’ve got the perfect ensemble to go with it,” Cash says. She motions to a faded Led Zepplin T-shirt, black jeans intentionally ripped along the knees, and a battered pair of black sneakers. “Go ahead and try them on.”

  Midnight staggers into the bathroom with the clothes. They’re a bit loose, but they fit well enough. She stares in the mirror at her new self. She has seen girls like this before in certain nightclubs and at Starbucks—usually working the counter of the latter. They’re the type of hipster punks who thumb their nose at authority by rebelling against the status quo in a very conformist way. Is this who they think she is?

  Starla’s words the day before come back to her. With all her brooding and ironic jokes, Midnight can see why Cash would see fit to cast her in this role, as the outcast, the misfit. She had reduced everything Midnight Spectre stood for into a cliché.

  There’s a tap on the door. Major Dalton asks, “Rob, are you all right? Do you need any help?”

  “I’m fine,” Midnight snaps. She wipes at the mascara that’s begun to run from her tears. She opens the door and sees a familiar face waiting for her. Not Major Dalton, but an old man dressed like he’s just come home from hunting pheasants in his plaid tweed overcoat and newsboy hat. “Jasper!”

  She throws herself at him like a little girl whose daddy has just come home after a long trip. A part of her mind notes she comes up only to his shoulders now, whereas before she used to be several inches taller than the old man. The rest of her doesn’t care at the moment; she sobs gratefully into his coat.

  Much sooner than she’d like, Jasper nudges her back. He smiles down at her. “I got here as soon as Major Dalton called. She told me all about your little mishap.”

  “It’s more than a little mishap,” Midnight says.

  “I suppose so. Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and I’ll make you a nice hot cup of tea?”

  “All right.” Midnight leans against Jasper, his arm around her shoulders as they head towards the cafeteria.

  ***

  Jasper shoos the kitchen staff away to personally see to making Midnight’s tea. Throughout all her travels, Midnight never found anyone who could make a cup of tea as well as Jasper. It must be that British know-how.

  She gratefully accepts the tea, though she sets it down to steep for a few minutes. She looks down into the cup, as if she can divine some hidden meaning from the leaves like a fortune teller. “I must look quite a sight to you,” she says, mimicking his accent.

  “I have to say it’s not entirely an unwelcome change.”

  “Dirty old man.”

  “If only I were fifty years younger, I’d ask you out.”

  Midnight’s cheeks warm despite that she knows Jasper is joking. “How are things on the outside? The world gone to hell yet?”

  “There is some speculation about what has become of the Super Squad. The military is only saying that you’re on a secret mission.”

  “What about more locally?”

  “Things haven’t gotten too bad yet. Captain Howe seems to have a lid on everything.”

  “No escapes yet?”

  “Not yet. It has only a matter of time I suppose.”

  “There will be if I’m stuck here much longer. Then we’ll be back at square one.”

  Jasper looks away from her as he sips his cup of tea. Midnight watches him until he finally puts the cup down. “Forgive my impertinence, Mistress Robin, but are you sure that’s wise?”

  Midnight glances involuntarily at her little teenaged body. Her cheeks warm again. “I know what it looks like, but I’m not an invalid. I just need to work out. Maybe when I get out of here I can see Master Wang to work on my training.”

  “Again, forgive my impertinence, Mistress, but it occurs to me there’s no hurry to do that. Perhaps you could give it a go to live like a normal person for a time?”

  “The city needs Midnight Spectre. Just because the shit hasn’t hit the fan yet doesn’t mean it won’t soon enough. When that happens, who’s going to save the city: Captain Howe and his legion of corrupt flatfeet?”

  Jasper takes another long sip of his tea. He’s getting ready to say something uncomfortable, Midnight is certain. She gulps from her own cup as she waits for it. “Might you perhaps be overstating your own importance? Perhaps Captain Howe is more capable than you’ve estimated.”

  “I doubt that.” She glares at him for a moment. “You don’t think I can do it anymore, do you? You think I’m too soft now. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t do my job!”

  “I’m sorry, Mistress, but seeing you like this, so innocent and sweet-looking, I don’t think I can live with myself if I let you back out there.”

  “So, what? I’m supposed to start going to cotillions now and wait for some rich boy to marry me so I can pump out his babies?”

  “Not at all. I’m merely suggesting you take some time to examine all your options.”

  “There are no other options. When Mom and Dad died, I promised I would clean up that city. It doesn’t matter if I’m seventeen or seventy or if I have a vagina instead of a penis. Got it? The mission isn’t ever going to change!”

  Jasper looks down at his tea and nods. “Very well. If that’s how you feel, I’m certain there’s no way I can stop you. Perhaps, though, until Major Dalton sees fit to release you, you might give the idea some consideration?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Midnight snaps and then stomps back to her room to be alone.

  Chapter 7

  Allison is the first one released from quarantine two days later. Starla and Elise are still floating down the crimson river, while Allison’s monthly visitor seems to have packed up and left. Dr. Harken insists on running a complete set of blood tests to ascertain why her period came and went so quickly.

  Allison would like to see the results, but Harken won’t show her. No one’s shown her any data since she’s gotten here. She’s asked Major Dalton a few times and always received a vague answer for why she can’t have access to information about her own body. Especially since she had always been given Most Secret clearance before. Becoming a woman didn
’t make her a security risk, did it?

  She’s weak and sore after the blood tests, so she goes into the mess hall for some juice and a bite to eat. The only one in the room is a teenaged girl with short black hair streaked with bright red. Is she the daughter of someone who works here? A maximum security military installation—the kind that isn’t supposed to exist officially—isn’t the kind of place for Take Your Daughter to Work Day.

  Only when she gets a closer look at the girl’s face does Allison recognize Robin Holloway. She sits down across from Robin and smiles. “I like the new look,” she says. It’s a lie, but from the way the girl is idly stirring her oatmeal, she needs cheering up.

  “That makes one of us,” Robin grumbles.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  Like a normal teenager, Robin only shrugs. “Where are the other two?”

  “Still in quarantine. It seems running isn’t the only thing I’m faster than everyone at.”

  “That must be nice.”

  “Have you—?” Allison can feel her face turn warm; it’s still difficult to discuss these sort of things. She and Sally never talked about this kind of stuff. The only indications of when it came and went were Sally’s irritability and tampon wrappers in the trash. A few times, before Jenny was born, Sally would have to fend Alan away when he was in the mood and she wasn’t.

  “Not yet. Lucky me,” Robin says. “Maybe I’m too young to even get one.”

  “That’s impossible. You wouldn’t have secondary sexual characteristics—”

  “I was joking,” Robin snaps.

  “Sorry,” Allison says. This mood of Robin’s might be the onset of PMS, but in her case it’s hard to tell. “So how have things been going here on the outside?”

  Again Robin shrugs. “Not much different. They let me have a visitor, though. Jasper’s down in Major Dalton’s office.”

  “That’s great,” Allison says, her voice hollow. “I’m sure he was glad to see you.”

  “Yeah, right. He says he wants me to clean up and become Miss Congeniality now. As if a pair of boobs should instantly make me June Cleaver or something. But he did bring me a nice present.” As Robin says this, something bumps against Allison’s thigh. She realizes one of Robin’s hands is under the table. Allison reaches down as if to itch her leg to touch Robin’s hand.