System Certified Supervillain

“Were you sick yesterday?” Candice asked, plopping down her tray at the lunch table and sending a cherry tomato rolling across the cafeteria floor. “I hope you’re feeling better today.”

It was, obviously, lunchtime. Tiff didn’t have the opportunity to catch up with Candice in Homeroom, because the cheerleader was running late and slid into class just as the bell rang. Then, Mr. Hendricks kept everyone busy with a lecture on Metahuman rights in civil court cases. One might think that Citizens needed more protections against Metahumans, considering the gap in tangible power…and they’d be right. In fact, modern law was heavily skewed in a non-powered individual’s favor. So much so that history had looped back around, and it was more common to accuse a Meta of misconduct and get away with it than to encounter a genuine case of Meta power abuse.

Because Metas who truly wished to abuse their power generally didn’t make it to small claims courts.

Regardless, these were called the “Wolf Laws.” They were often attributed to the fable of the boy who cried wolf, but that was incorrect. While it made sense from a certain point of view, if one considered a Citizen who falsely accused a Meta as “the boy,” the name actually stemmed from a different fairy tale, even if the original tale itself didn’t have much to do with why the name stuck.

A lawyer, once upon a time in the early 1900s, used the illustration of the big bad wolf blowing the pigs’ houses down as an example of contextual misrepresentation. He argued that the wolf was not at fault for the structural failure of the pigs’ homes, but instead it was a matter of shoddy craftsmanship and cheap materials. Mr. Wolf was wrongly accused, and in a “he said, she said” scenario, the group with three testimonies would obviously sound more reliable than a single witness.

Amusingly, nobody really remembered what the original case was actually about. There were several possible theories, but the analogy remained.

“Sort of,” Tiff sighed. She took a large bite of her bagel sandwich and chewed it angrily. The thought of how the System viewed her irritated Tiff. “The situation was a bit…unusual, but I’m fine today.”

“Did it have to do with, you know,” Candice asked, lowering her voice and leaning in, “Your Class?”

“Yes,” Tiff grunted. “I spent most of the day in the hospital, but it wasn’t anything serious and I got to eat ice cream afterward.”

“Wasn’t serious?!” Candice hissed as she stood up involuntarily. A few kids at other tables glanced over at the commotion, but she calmed herself and sat back down. “Tiff, if you had to go to the hospital, it’s kinda serious.”

Tiff nodded and stuffed a slice of apple in her cheeks.

“I reacted poorly to something the System told me. On a related note, did you hear about the Rift that opened up in Pomona?”

Candice narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t like how those are related. What did it tell you and why?”

“I’d love to explain,” Tiff said, “But obviously not here. Maybe we can have you over for dinner sometime?”

Tiff felt butterflies flapping in her stomach and she realized this was the first time she’d ever taken the initiative to ask a friend to come over. A natural smile bloomed across her face as she blushed timidly.

“Sure thing,” Candice agreed with a shrug as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I can do whenever. Just let me know beforehand so I can plan around cheerleading practice.”

Tiff found it interesting that she didn’t mention anything about her parents, but if Candice didn’t want to bring it up, Tiff wasn’t going to.

“Well, it can’t be today because I have a meeting with a mob, so-”

Candice was taking a drink and nearly spit it out all over the table.

“What?” She demanded, wiping her mouth. She gave Tiff a very flat look. “You can’t just say something like that. What do you mean, meeting the mob?”

Candice glanced at the closest table, which was far too invested in a paper football flicking match to overhear them.

“Is this something you can talk about in the open?” Candice hissed. “And why wasn’t I informed? I’m supposed to keep your schedule and stuff! When do we need to leave?”

“Relax,” Tiff tried to calm her down. “I’ll be going with Tori. I admit, it might be nice to have you there because you’re very good with people, but not this time. I don’t think my dad would let me bring you along.”

“Your dad knows?” Candice asked in a flat voice. “And he’s still letting you go? What kind of Super-dad lets his daughter meet the mob?”

“He made sure to give us lots of monitoring equipment,” Tiff reasoned, as if everyone’s dad had access to spy gear. “So he can keep tabs and send in the authorities if need be. Besides, Tori will be there to guard me, so everything should be fine.”

Candice clearly remembered Victoria’s power armor, which made her give up with a respectful grumble.

​

The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. Tiff slogged through her classes, getting the obligatory wellness check from her concerned teachers. They meant well and Tiff knew it; she hardly missed school and she was never tardy, so having her miss a day unexpectedly was uncharacteristic of her. She thanked them, explained that it was temporary, and assured them that it wouldn’t happen again.

As had become the norm over the last few weeks, Victoria was waiting to pick up Tiff and Amy after school. Tiff glanced at the crowd of students milling about in front of the buses, glad she didn’t need to suffocate while crammed between some boys who were seemingly allergic to deodorant.

“Hey there, Munch, Shorty,” Victoria called as she leaned across the seat to open the passenger door for Amy. “Tiff, you ready for today?”

“Boooo,” Amy pouted, slumping forward and crossing her arms. “Take me with you!”

“No,” Victoria instantly shot down with a smile. She watched Tiff climb in and buckle up. As soon as Tiff was secure, Victoria gave her a meaningful look.

“Honestly? No,” was Tiff’s reply. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying. I think you’re right; there’s too much at stake. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“Are you kidding?” Victoria laughed. “With all the time Dad spent this morning getting all his equipment ready? I think he’s more invested at this point than either of us are.”

“Even Dad’s part of this!” Amy complained. “I wanna go! I’m always getting left out!”

“You’re not being left out, Ames,” Victoria sighed. “And this isn’t something you should want to be a part of. Hey, look at me,” Victoria said seriously. Amy heard the shift in tone from playful sister to cautious [Bodyguard] and straightened up. “I wasn’t going to say anything around Mom, but these are real gang members we’re talking about here. They are absolutely going to have guns. I’m banking on my Skill to help me protect Tiff if things come to blows, but that doesn’t apply to you. Or anybody else. Actually, I don’t even know if my armor is bulletproof…though I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh,” Amy said as her eyes widened. Tiff’s did too.

“Tori,” she said hesitantly, and then Victoria laughed. The jovial big sister was back. “I already told you, Tiff. I’m in this.”

Tiff slowly closed her mouth and watched Amy fidget nervously in the front seat. She felt bad that they’d suddenly dropped a bunch of worry right in her lap, but not enough to drag her into a hostile situation. That didn’t mean she couldn’t abuse Amy’s eagerness, though.

“You know, Amy,” Tiff said, “There is one thing I could really use a hand with….”

Amy’s head whipped around in her seat and eyes sparked with anticipation. Yes, this would work perfectly.

​

Of the many things Tiff couldn’t do by herself, putting on the dress was of critical importance. The first time she donned it, Melissa had been around to haul the heavy thing around and help steady Tiff as she stepped into it. Tiff had seen enough cheesy “historical dramadies” to hear Victorian gowns described as a woman’s battle armor, and frankly, Tiff agreed. By itself, the dress was heavy, cumbersome, and impossible to put on by herself. The fact that it wasn’t something she could just throw over her head like a T-shirt was also telling. It had a whole array of cleverly hidden and disguised belts, hooks, and ties to keep it in place…as well as an honest-to-goodness metal cage for the skirt.

Or metal-adjacent, as the case may have been, as the hoop was made of the same material as Victoria’s armor. It felt like soft leather, but it was harder than steel. When it wasn’t snapped into its rigid form, the cage was actually rather pliable. Perhaps that’s why it was comfortable when she sat down.

Tiff stood still as stone while her sisters built the dress around her like an ancient samurai donning armor. They layered the voluminous petticoats and slid her into the bodice. They made her shift left and right repeatedly, making countless micro-adjustments until the whole thing sat just right. Then, they laced the corset, cinching Tiff’s waist until she felt like she was stuffed inside a toilet paper roll’s cardboard tube. After nearly 30 minutes of fussing, Amy looked exhausted, but she finally declared Tiff ready.

With two exceptions.

“Where are your shoes?” Amy gasped, watching Tiff take dainty, measured steps around her room, which suddenly felt twice as small as it normally did. She shuffled in a circle slowly, careful not to knock anything over due to her greatly expanded proportions and looked at Amy quizzically. For an answer, Tiff simply grabbed handfuls of her dress and hiked the front up just enough for her feet to be seen.

“Sneakers?” Amy scoffed. “Sneakers?!”

“Yes?” Tiff tilted her head. “They’re comfortable.”

“Where are the heels?!” Amy demanded. “The stilettos? The things that scream, I’m a boss and I’mma step on you! You know, the type you can use to stab somebody in a pinch?”

“Amy,” Tiff sighed, “You greatly overestimate my balance if you think I can wear stilettos.”

“Besides,” Victoria growled. “Nobody’s getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but just think of the presence!” Amy lamented.

Amy had a point…but sadly, the only pair of heels Tiff owned was a pair of flats with a 2” wedge. Yes, they made her marginally taller and she wasn’t at any risk of stumbling over, but they weren’t comfortable. And besides, with how much dress she had on her body, the chances of anybody getting free feet were precisely zero.

“Denied,” Tiff sighed, in place of being able to say maybe next time. But unfortunately, Amy wasn’t done.

“Fine,” she pouted, “But you’ve gotta agree to this one. We need to do your makeup!”

“Amy,” Tiff groaned. “I’m going to talk to gangsters, not pick up a date.”

“And that’s exactly why you gotta look your best!” Amy declared, clenching her fists like a true shonen protagonist. Tiff could tell that Amy wasn’t going to back down on this one, so she might as well hear her out.

“Go on.”

“Ok!” Amy said eagerly, launching into her spiel. “You’re the Dark Queen, so you need to look the part! I’ll get some porcelain foundation to make you super pale-”

“Wait,” Tiff spluttered. “You want to make me even more pale?”

“Yeah?” Amy looked at her like she was dumb. “I mean, with this getup, aren’t we going for Goth vampire?”

Tiff wanted to groan, but she couldn’t exactly disagree. The dress was rather telling.

“You know what? Whatever. Fine. But nothing super fancy! It’s got to wash off!”

Twenty minutes later, looking in the mirror, even Tiff was feeling slightly intimidated.

…Did her Skill not count if she was the one intimidating herself? Ehh. It didn’t kick in when she worked herself into a tizzy worrying about silly things, so Tiff supposed it was only fair it didn’t turn on now.

But the face in the mirror was almost unrecognizable, even though Amy had kept to her word. All she’d done was dust on this white junk that seemed to leech the hue and saturation from her skin and left her looking like a freshly bleached sheet. Amy then traced her lips with charcoal colored lipstick and added a rather sinister application of eye shadow. Tiff quirked an eyebrow, and she could already hear the phantom simps begging her reflection to walk all over them. She closed her eyes and tried to banish the fools, one of which sounded remarkably close to one of her classmates, all while Amy did her hair. Tiff shared the classic VanDyne women’s gene for wild, untamable hair, so instead of trying to wrestle it into submission with a bun or a fancy updo, they simply fluffed it up with a bit of volumizer, making it look like she was perpetually summoning a raging storm.

“Perfect,” Amy said, stepping away. Tiff had to admit, the girl staring back at her was formidable. She certainly would never mistake the person she was looking at for a quiet, homely high-school girl. And, perhaps with a little help from her other skill, [Hiding in Plain Sight], Tiff could keep it that way.

“Thank you, Amy,” Tiff said with genuine gratitude. “Your efforts today have been invaluable. I won’t let your hard work go to waste.”

Amy looked a little shocked and, a rarity for the girl, a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” she said with a faint blush, turning her head away. “No problem.”

“Ready to go?” Victoria asked. “We need to get a move on if we don’t want to be late.”

“Let’s be off,” Tiff nodded, trying to get into character. Maybe, if she could leave Tiff home and embody Dark Queen Theophania, things would go more smoothly. Or maybe everything would end up in a dumpster fire. Either way, Victoria was right. It was time to go.

Tiff waved a gloved hand absently, shooing Amy out of her way as if she was an insignificant insect. Amy giggled and skipped away, so Tiff took slow, measured steps to cross her room…where she encountered the first obstacle.

Her doorway.

The door was open, but the dress was massive. It easily added three more feet to Tiff’s width, and since a standard door in a house was only about three feet, she had to squeeze her way through. She approached slowly, cautiously, and winced as the rigid frame beneath locked up, unyielding. She took another step forward, crossing the threshold, and for the briefest moment feared she might get stuck. The dress caught on both sides, groaned ominously, but eventually squished together and let her through.

“Look at my girls, all grown up,” Rick teased as Tiff shuffled into the entryway. His eyes fell on Tiff and they widened, but behind her, all Victoria had to do was activate her Skill and her armor formed around her. Tiff was instantly jealous.

“Don’t worry, old man,” Victoria sassed. “I’ve got things covered.”

“I’m sure you do, Tori,” Rick said, nodding. “Don’t forget to activate the gear. I’ll be monitoring you the moment you leave the house.”

Victoria sighed and started touching random parts of her LED strips, which Tiff assumed morphed into tactical locations to disguise the cameras, since they weren’t in their usual spots. Rick held his arms open wide and Victoria picked him up in a crushing hug.

“I get it, I get it!” Rick laughed. “You’re big and strong!”

She put him down and Tiff shuffled forward.

Obstacle number two.

How to hug a father when the front of the dress reached out nearly as far as her arms.

Tiff stood there awkwardly with her arms held out, waiting for Rick to make a move. He gave her a lopsided smile, tilted his head several ways as if calculating the perfect geometry of attack, and leaned in. The dress, thankfully, was more forgiving to her father than the door. It ruffled lightly and squished like silk, even though moments before it felt like hardened steel.

Amy simply laughed, then pouted, then tried to give Victoria a high five, which was a mistake. It was like slapping a wall and Amy whined as she complained about the sting. Tiff rolled her eyes and turned to face Victoria…thereby discovering obstacle number three.

She could turn her head, yes, but if she actually wanted to see, she needed to rotate her whole body physically. The massive collar of her dress formed a striking cone that rose around her head, effectively giving her blinders. Tiff had approximately 90 degrees of unobstructed vision, and everything in her peripherals was shrouded by a black-and-crimson wall.

Tiff took several tiny steps, shuffling in place as her family gave her amused smiles, until she could actually see the door.

“Tori, let’s go.”

Their trip lasted approximately 2 minutes.

Obstacle number four.

Entering a crappy old Toyota Camry while dressed like a [Dark Queen].

Victoria climbed into the driver’s seat, leaned over, and popped the passenger door to let Tiff in like she always did. Tiff, not even thinking about it, tried to climb in. She immediately encountered the same problem that she had trying to leave her room.

Her dress was far too big to squeeze into a tiny car door. Tiff’s forehead wrinkled, unsure if the dress was going to be cooperative, and she decided to push her luck. Tiff leaned forward, started to reach inside…and immediately got stuck.

Full stop: could not budge an inch.

Her eyes went wide as saucers, her body went rigid, and she may have let out a little panic squeal. She tugged herself forward…nothing. The middle of the pannier was lodged firmly in the doorframe. She tried backing out…nothing. Tiff only managed to compress herself back into the dress, like some sort of twisted Jack-In-The-Box refusing to go back inside.

“Tori,” Tiff said in a slightly higher pitch than normal. “I…need help.”

Victoria looked up…and lost it. She laughed for a solid 3 minutes, which was long enough for Tiff’s panic to turn into indignation…and eventually boredom as she waited helplessly for somebody to rescue her. Eventually, Victoria got out, wrapped her mighty arms around Tiff’s car-filling dress, and pulled her out.

Another 10 minutes later and they discovered that Tiff would not be riding in the front seat. Through a miracle of leverage and the judicial application of patience and ingenuity, they managed to stuff Tiff into the back seat. It involved Tiff shimmying her way in headfirst while Victoria pulled her from the opposite door, and once she was finally past the critical point, the dress relented and let her flop inside. Tiff took up the entire back seat, needing to actually sit in the middle. Again, with more ingenuity, they managed to rig the seatbelts to hold her, but Tiff was sure she wouldn’t pass any safety tests if a cop pulled them over.

It was a good thing they didn’t look suspicious, right? Just a [Dark Queen] and her [Unyielding Champion] going out for a nice drive and some fresh air.

​

“There it is,” Victoria said grimly from the front seat. Her voice modulator made her sound even more sinister, and, secretly, Tiff hoped her big sister scared the gangsters enough that she wouldn’t have to. It was a little after 4 and they were cutting it very close to the meetup time. 4:31, and they would technically be late. While Tiff thought there was merit in making a dramatic entrance, showing up fashionably late and essentially letting everybody else know she would be dictating the time, that wasn’t how she wanted to run things. If this was supposed to be a business, and she was still wrestling with how she could make her mind believe it was, then she wanted to be punctual. And her people needed to be punctual, too. Lead by example. Let her underlings see that dilly-dallying would not be tolerated.

Tiff must have worked herself into a tiny frown, with a serious face and furrowed brows, because Victoria burst into laughter.

“Alright, champ, you’ve got this!” Victoria cheered.

“Right,” Tiff muttered, slightly mollified. “So long as I can leave your car with dignity.”

The meetup wasn’t taking place at John’s or the Trampoline Park, nor was it happening at the 24-Heaven. It was one of the other new establishments Tiff had recently added to her domain; an honest-to-goodness Italian restaurant. But not one of those fancy, black-tie, darkened room, sit-down-at-a-candle-lit-table restaurants. It almost looked like a cross between a pizza joint and a sub shop. Tiff could see through the large glass windows that the place wasn’t doing incredible business, but there were a handful of customers. She sighed and wondered what complete strangers might think about her silly costume as she walked into a normal store.

And then Tiff realized…she didn’t care what anybody else thought.

“They wanted the dress,” Tiff growled. “They’re getting the damn dress.”

Tiff scowled, thinking of all the ways these people pissed her off, what with attacking her big sister inside the corner store and destroying her favorite soft serve machine. How they made their problems into her problems, and now it was up to Tiff to set them straight. Clean up their mess, bring in structure, order. There would be no chaos under her rule, only obedience. Her face relaxed into a haughty, entitled, and self-important smirk. Every ounce of her aura flooded the Camry and Victoria audibly choked.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I guess we’re getting serious. You wait just a sec, Boss; lemme get the door.”

Tiff tapped her foot impatiently. Not because she was displeased with Victoria, but because now she wanted to get in there and get this over with so she could go back home. What were small-fry gang members in the presence of the Dark Queen?

Getting Tiff out of the Camry was much quicker than getting her in, but it was still an ordeal. One of the customers from the restaurant stopped to gawk as Victoria extracted Tiff from the back seat, but as soon as her aura was directed his way, the man went pale, hugged his meatball sub close to his chest, and scurried away. Tiff nodded in satisfaction, smoothed the pleats of her dress, and held her gloved hand aloft.

Victoria stared at it.

“Escort me,” Tiff said lazily. She barely heard Victoria’s well-concealed chuckle.

Victoria reached the door first and held it open. Tiff gave the small entry a look of great disdain and pressed forward as if volumetrics owed her money. Her head held high, Tiff ignored the way the frame, not her dress, creaked as she squeezed into the shop.

It wasn’t a large business, having four tables and two booths, and suddenly Tiff was taking up at least a fifth of the open space. She looked around lazily at the 3 remaining customers and the 2 employees behind the counter. Everyone in the room froze solid, afraid to move, staring at her with slack-jawed wonder. Victoria stood behind her menacingly; a silent, ominous sentinel. Tiff noticed one of the clerks had a bag of food and was paused midway through handing it over the counter, the customer likewise stalled in the act of picking it up. A corner of Tiff’s lips curled into a smile. The people shuddered.

“You may continue,” Tiff said grandly, graciously granting them permission. “Champion,” she addressed Victoria. “Please see to the sign. I’m afraid we are now closed for the day.”

“Yes, Queen,” Victoria’s deep, metallic voice sounded out like a fallen knight dredged up from the depths of hell. Not one person made a peep; not a single sound dared ring out except for the crunch of Victoria’s boots as she trudged over to the door, placed herself in front of it, and flipped the sign from “open” to “closed.” She crossed her arms and turned her formidable gaze out the clear windows, catching an approaching middle-aged man in his tracks as he was about to reach for the handle. Victoria tilted her head minutely to the left and right; the man gulped and hurried away. Moments later, two customers left, revealing the third to be a gang-member plant. Somebody supposed to wait as emissary. Tiff smiled again. He was shaking in his boots.

“Well?” She said haughtily. “My presence was requested. Do not waste my time.”

¹

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