Chapter 1

I guess all of us do stupid things at one time or another, but this one almost cost me my life. I had moved to Boston from New Haven, more on a whim than anything else. My name is Helen Ashcroft of THE Ashcrofts of New Haven. That meant that I had access to more money than I could ever hope to spend and no interest in working for a living. I had just finished my Liberal Arts degree at UConn where I failed to catch a husband. At least, that's the way my mother felt about it. In fact, I guess that I had moved to Boston to escape her eternal matchmaking.

I'm no Lesbian, but I can't get interested on the insipid BOYS she insisted in bringing around for me to meet. I might have changed my mind if she had included one MAN in the bunch. Well, so much for that. I rented a large old home in one of the ritzier sections of town and looked around for something to do between parties. I wasn't going to do housework, so I hired an older, female live in housekeeper/manager, Mrs. Martha Hoskins, to look after things for me and to keep the place clean. I had a lot of fun decorating the old mansion, for that was what it was, but I kind of lost interest after that, except as a place to crash at night if nothing better was available.

Martha was often on my case to do something with my life, but I just frittered away my time. Finally, more to shut her up than anything else, I volunteered for one of the major charities, the "Boston Samaritans", in the city. I wasn't interested in being another one of the office girls, so I took a job delivering the food, clothing, and sometimes money, that the charity handed out to the deserving poor around the city. This was enough to shut Martha up, except that she kept after me to be careful. Of course, I paid no attention to her warnings.

Juan Hernandez, the leader of a local street gang, the Gatos (Tom Cats) was talking to a couple of his henchmen. "Compadres, we need to branch out. We have pretty well sewn up the sex and drug distribution rackets in our section of the metro area, so we need to look for a new source of income. What do you think of moving into the protection racket?"

Julio Garcia said, "That sounds like a good idea, hefe, but we may have trouble finding some gringo with enough money to make it worth our effort."

"You have hit the nail on the head, Julio. We could make a nice income from the local merchants, since there are so many of them, but there would be a lot of overhead just from the sheer number of people involved. No, I have a different target in mind. The Boston Samaritans is a big charitable operation that has a lot of exposure in our area. They have a lot of money, so they should pay well to have their delivery people 'protected' from the low-life scum that are so active around here." That brought a laugh and complete agreement from those present at the meeting.

I was making my last delivery of the day to an apartment complex that had seen much better days. I had an armload of food and a couple of blankets that I needed to deliver to the apartment on the fourth floor. Of course, the elevator was out, so I had to climb the stairs with my arms full of the items that I was delivering. I dropped off my load at the apartment and started back down the stairs where I was stopped by five men blocking my way.

"Please let me by, Gentlemen. I've had a long day and I would like to go home and rest."

"Si, Senorita, we will let you by, but we would like a few minutes of your time, first."

"I really am in a hurry. Please move aside so I can go punch out."

"Don't worry, Senorita, we will be happy to punch you out. TAKE HER, MUCHACHOS!"

Four of the men grabbed me and began pulling my clothes off. I screamed for help, but none came. The residents of the building knew well when to mind their own business. I was naked in only seconds and lying on the floor on my back. The leader dropped his pants and proceeded to rape me. The pain was terrible as the dry rubbing tore my skin until the blood finally provided some lubrication. Before they were through with me, each of the five had taken two turns with me.

I have no idea how long I was in their power, but they finally tired of torturing me and left me lying on the third-floor landing, naked and bleeding. Someone got up the courage to call 911 after those bastards had left. The EMTs showed up and carted me off to a hospital ER. They were polite, but they acted as if they had seen this sort of call too many times, already.

I was in the hospital for a week before I was sent home to the care of Martha. As a parting word, one of the doctors told me that I was so messed up internally that he doubted that I could ever carry a child. This was something that affected my mother more than it did me, since I was seething with hatred for the men who had raped me and had no interest in a child at the moment. I finally banished my mother back to New Haven because I was tired of hearing her saying "I told you so" a multitude of times every day.

Martha took very good care of me and was well aware of my desire for revenge against the rapists. In fact, she agreed with me. Unfortunately, I had no idea of how to go about getting the revenge I so yearned for. Then, one day, I figured it out.

While I was stuck in bed, there was not much to do but to read and watch TV. I kind of gravitated to the movie channels and spent most of my time watching one movie after another. One day, one of the channels, Cinemax I think it was, ran a superhero marathon. It was mostly devoted to the Batman series, both the first and second sets.

That's when it hit me: I could become a superhero like Batman, Batgirl, and Cat Woman. All I needed to do was to develop my strength and agility and to learn to use the appropriate weapons. I certainly had the money to indulge myself, and I now had no need to seek male companionship, since I considered that part of my body closed territory, at least for now.

Immediately, I began to search the web for ideas. The persona I came up with was Nyx, the Greek goddess of the night and the mother of Nemesis. The fact that Nemesis had no father really appealed to me!

Martha was initially shocked at my idea, but she gradually came around as I explained my plan to her. She even volunteered to help me get some of the things that I would need.

One of the first things I did was to hire a physical therapist and trainer to get me into the best physical condition that I could manage. I'm 5'-4" tall and weigh about 120 pounds. The problem was that none of that was muscle, metaphorically speaking. It took six months of damned hard work, but I converted that 120 pounds of mostly fat into 130 pounds of hard muscle. My trainer warned me that I had to keep working at it every day, or I would easily slip back to my previous condition. I thanked her and resolved to keep at it, at least until my revenge was satisfied.

As soon as I was able, I signed up for a martial arts course and for a shooting course. I had decided what kind of weapons I was going to use. For one thing, I was not going to pussyfoot around being careful not to kill any of my enemies. I decided to learn commando fighting methods with the knife and the Fairbairn stick-fighting techniques. The problem was in finding someone to teach me. Nobody advertised this sort of tutorship, so I had to resort to a private investigator to find a place for me to take classes. He found a place for me in Worcester, so I went out to that city to see what I could do to arrange lessons.

Sensei Douglas was not about to admit that he taught killing methods, but I finally wore him down, and he accepted me as a student. Sensei Douglas was ex special-ops, so I figured to get the training that I needed. He got a Fairbairn-Sykes knife for me, as well as a baton made of laminated oak and bamboo. The baton was one inch in diameter and 20 inches long. Don't kid yourself, that was a killing weapon when properly used.

For shooting, I also settled for training in Worcester. That way, I could combine trips. I tried several weapons and settled on the Walter's PPK/S as manufactured by Smith & Wessen in .32 ACP. I deliberately chose the small caliber .32 because my revenge did not involve killing, except as necessary. Instead, I wanted to inflict a disabling wound so that the victim would have time to appreciate the pain that I went through.

I became good friends with my shooting instructor, and we discussed how I could get a gun that could not be traced. I had told him of my revenge plans in vague generalities, so I was not worried that he could rat on me. Anyway, he came up with what I thought was a clever scheme. I would "steal" the three PPK/Ss that he had in stock. That way, there would be no official record of me on anybody's books as owning the three guns. After I paid him for the guns, he staged a nighttime robbery and called in the government agents to report his loss. This got him off the hook, too, so we were all happy.

Martha and I worked on a costume design that would be comfortable and still protective. She sewed me a body suit that included hand and foot coverings, as well as an integral hood. The only openings in the costume, once I had it on, were the two small holes for the eyes. The fabric was loose enough in mesh so that I had no trouble breathing. I was able to obtain a rigid, bullet proof back and breast plate. The rest of the garment was protected by a chain mail made of titanium rings. The cuirass, for that was what it was, still gave me complete freedom of movement, but was a solid stopper for bullets, knives, and clubs. The rest of the outfit would not help against clubs, and would be of little value against bullets, but it would do a perfect job in protecting me from blades of any sort.

I obtained some leather boots which were a snug fit. To the toes of these boots I fitted a titanium alloy spike that was nearly three inches long and had a very sharp point. I had a similar spike on a wrist bracer; the combination made it possible for me to climb a wall by jabbing the spikes into the wall and making my way up, down, or sideways as necessary. They even worked well on masonry walls, but there might be a problem on stone. The spikes would also make excellent secondary weapons.

I had a utility belt made which included holsters for my guns, I planned to wear two of them, one on each hip. I had no need for a "quick draw," so the location was not too important. Besides pockets for accessories like lock picks, a small LED flashlight, extra ammunition clips, and such, I wanted hangers for my fighting stick and a section of rope.

At last, I was ready to go. It had taken nearly a year to get myself and my equipment ready, but now was the time.

I no longer worked for the charity, but I did keep in contact with them after my release from the hospital. Several of the other delivery agents had been assaulted in much the same way that I was. The women were severely raped, and the men were beaten to the point where they barely survived. Interestingly enough, the trouble stopped abruptly after the charity hired a street gang, the Tom Cats, to insure protection for the delivery workers.

That was the hint that I needed to know who to look for to get my revenge. That very night, I donned my full regalia in earnest and set off to war. The outfit and all of the accessories were a dull, flat black so that very little light was reflected. That made me difficult to see, even in the daytime, if I stayed in the shadows.

As a disguise over my costume, I had a long coat and a bushy wig that made me look like an African-American down on her luck. That is, if you didn't look too closely. With this crude disguise, I was able to walk the streets in reasonable safety from discovery.

I had gotten a list of the deliveries for the day and picked one to meet at the end of the day. I hoped to see a representative of the Tom Cats keeping an eye on his customer. Aha, there he was! I hung back and waited until the delivery was over. As soon as the delivery truck pulled away, the Tom Cat agent set off at a brisk walk and I followed.

He was moving so fast that it was difficult to follow him without running, but I didn't want to do that. Running would attract unwanted attention. Finally, he turned into a disreputable building. I got as close as I could and shed my disguise. Now, I was visible as Nyx, if you knew where to look. It was already getting dark, so I would have been very difficult to see.

I entered the same door that my lead had used, so I was pretty sure to be close on his tail. I was close, all right. I was grabbed from behind with arms wrapped around my body, trying to grab my breasts. The cuirass made that impossible. "OK, Bitch, why were you following me?"

I had no trouble shrugging him off because the smooth cuirass gave him no purchase for his fingers. I stamped my foot on the ground, and that released the spike on my right foot. Almost before he realized that I had broken away, I kicked him in the shin with the spiked toe of my boot.

The spike went in far enough to strike bone and knock a little chip off as I pulled back. My attacker screamed the scream of the damned as he fell to the floor. I wasn't surprised, that injury must have hurt like hell! I stamped the other foot to release the spike on that foot so I would be ready if anything else unexpected should happen.

I looked around and saw no one else, so I figured that I had time for a few questions. "Where is the headquarters of the Tom Cats?" I really didn't expect an answer at this point, but I was just getting warmed up.

"Fuck you, you bitch. I ain't telling you nothing."

That was just what I expected, so I kicked him as hard as I could in the knee of the wounded leg. The spike penetrated the knee cap and actually went into the joint. This time, I had a little difficulty pulling out. Of course, my victim screamed and fainted. While he was out, I rolled him over and used a wire tie to fasten his wrists together. For practical purposes, he was now helpless, but I did take the time to search him for weapons and whatever useful information he might have.

He was carrying a large folding knife. I broke the blade on that and tossed it aside. He had a few dollars and a little Mary Jane (marijuana) in his pockets. His billfold had a drivers license with a photo ID. I saved that just in case, though I didn't know what I would do with it at the moment. Out of spite, I kept his money. He had no credit cards or anything else of interest.

Pretty soon, Alberto woke up, and I resumed my questioning. He was moaning to the point that he could not even hear me, so I poked his ass with a spike enough to get his attention, then I rolled him back so that he was face up. "One more time, Alberto. Where is the headquarters?"

"Shit, please don't stab me again with that damned spike. I don't know where the headquarters is, but there is a meeting room at 147 Garibaldi St. on the second floor. Honest, that's all I know."

"OK, I'll leave you with one last souvenir from your encounter with Nyx." I took out my combat knife, and his eyes grew to be the proverbial saucers. I slit his pants at the crotch and pulled them aside. Then I cut away his by now filthy underwear to expose his genitalia. I had a tiny nail gun in one of my utility belt pouches, and I pulled that out. "Alberto, do you know what this is?" He shook his head no, so I said, "It's a nail gun. It's your last souvenir from Nyx. Remember that name!" I then fired one nail into his penis, fastening it to the floor. Now that he was immobile, I fired a nail into each of his testicles. I could hear him screaming as I called 911 for EMTs.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Rape / Humor / Superhero / Torture / Violent / Prostitution /