OOC – Wandering Wednesday

(I’m still too lazy to continue the story so here’s yet another idea for another superhero run.  The deal here would be the person journaling from prison about their journey through supervillainy.  But then in a SHOCKING SURPRISE TWIST another supervillain busts them out and we go into real time stuff mode.  Why did they do it?  What’s the motivation?  You don’t break someone out of superjail just for a smash and grab, what’s going on?  We’ll probably never find out.)

The prison chaplain said that I should start a journal.  So I am.  It won’t help anything but what else am I going to do?  I have time.  When it became clear that I was going down, my lawyer told me that women’s prisons aren’t nightmare factories like men’s prisons.  She told me that in prison I could take classes and help train puppies and do crafts.  That might be true but I wouldn’t know because I’m not in a women’s prison. 

What I do know, now, is that there are only two super-being containment facilities in the world and both of them are for everyone.  There’s no money to be made in creating a separate facility for women super beings, there aren’t enough of us.  We’re not all mixed together, that would be a nightmare.  There’s a rule that there can be no “sight or sound contact that is not brief and inadvertent” between male and female inmates.  What this means is that the handful of women here are essentially in lockdown all the time.  Once a month they chase all the men out of the yard so we get an hour of exercise time.  Other than that we’re in our cells.

Sounds illegal right?  Well here’s something else I’ve learned, super-beings don’t have the same protections and civil liberties as everyone else.  They don’t advertise this fact but the law doesn’t treat us like human beings exactly, in the eyes of the law we’re more like circus animals or barrels of acid.  It’s not that we don’t have any rights, but the law is far more concerned with keeping us from hurting anyone than they are about us not being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment. 

What sucks is that there’s an argument to be made that I shouldn’t even be here.  There’s one doctrine that says that anyone who’s “enhanced” counts as a super-being.  Which I probably am but it’s never been proven.  But there’s another legal theory that says that in order to be a categorized as a super-being you have to have abilities that exceed established baseline human thresholds.  Which I do not. 

Neither one of these are written into law, they’re just guidelines that people use and no one has ever decided that one or the other is “right”.  If I could contact my lawyer I would tell her this and she could make a case for getting me transferring to a normal correction facility, but here’s the double suck to the suck, since I’ve already been labeled a super-being and convicted and sentenced I’m not allowed any contact with the outside world, not even for legal stuff.

Being falsely labeled a super-being is a real catch-22 because part of the super-being label is that you lose much of your ability to appeal that label. 

Anyway, I should start at the beginning.  When I was younger I liked telling people that my mom was a supervillain.  You know, to get attention.  It is true that she was a villain but there was nothing super about her. 

She worked for AIM, those goofy people that run around in stupid yellow suits with the big helmets.  You know, the organization whose leader is a giant Mardi Gras head with no body and proportionally tiny arms and legs that can’t support it or do anything.  My mom was one of them.  She always told me that AIM was different from HYDRA because AIM aren’t Nazis but they brought back Red Skull like three times and he’s the king Nazi. 

Her big contribution to AIM was that she reversed engineered Calvin Zabo’s formula for hormonal transformation and made a pill that temporarily increases strength, stamina, durability, and resistance to physical injury.  Like a professor with tenure, I think she pretty much coasted after that and just made super-pills for low-level criminal assholes. 

She made this break-through by experimenting on sex workers without their consent.  Some of them died, which is why when I turned her notes over to the police, she went to prison and I went to live with my grandma.  It’s also why you might bump into a super-powered sex worker if you’re into that sort of thing.  It’s not likely but they’re out there.  A few of them.

I wish that I had been able to speak to my mom without her trying to kill me because I’d really like to know the story of how she ended up working for AIM.  How does someone go from biochemistry and pharmaceutical master’s programs at prestigious universities to wearing a skin-tight giant yellow suit with a Minecraft box head?  

If that’s my mom, who’s my dad?  Good question, I’m glad you asked.  I have no dad in the sense of a dude that helped raise me.  My mom says that biologically my father is Steve Rogers.  Captain America Steve Rogers.  My mom lied to me a lot but I think this is true because I can bench press 700 pounds, I run a 4.2 40, and I am unbeatable at Frisbee golf.  I think it’s reasonable to believe that my physical abilities, which are all within normal human ranges I would like to remind you for the record, come from whatever crazy 1940’s “vita-rays” are bouncing around in my DNA from old Steve Rogers. 

To be clear, my mom didn’t say that she bounced around with Cap.  In fact she claims that Steve Rogers is a virgin but I don’t believe that.  I’ve seen old pictures of that Sidewinder woman he used to hang out with.  I know women aren’t supposed to say this about other women but based on her appearance, there’s no way she wasn’t getting some action from Captain GD America.  Or maybe that is okay to say?  Is that sex positivity?  I get confused with that stuff. 

As she tells it she was on the scene when Cap and Falcon and maybe Mockingbird broke up one of her super-pill sales and while Cap was fighting with her business partner Cyberiad Captain Steve got cyber-walloped right in the smacker.  Busted up America’s most kissable man-lips.  While the fight was going on, my mom slipped in and grabbed some of Steve Roger’s blood.  Which she then extracted the DNA from to synthesize whatever you use for IVF and used that to fertilize one of her eggs.  Which she did not implant in her womb of course, she made a big tube full of goo to grow me in.  Maybe that means the tube is my real mom.    

My mom was pretty good at science.  I wonder what she could have accomplished if she didn’t focus her science-ing on evil super-pills and making Steve Rogers’ babies on a lark.  But even more I wonder what mental disorder made her do those things. 

I guess that’s a good enough introduction to start off with.  I have a wall I need to stare at for six to ten hours now.