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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Paragon vs. Plastica  13/15  (M/F, F/F, superhero, bondage, D/s, mc, statue)
Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2002 18:10:04 -0400
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Paragon vs. Plastica

by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)


This work is copyrighted 2002-2003 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). This 
work may be be freely distributed over electronic media provided no fee is 
charged for its use. This work may be archived only with the author's 
permission.  Charging a fee for this story, or publishing without author 
credit or this notice violates my copyright.

The complete story may be read at my websites: 

http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade

OR

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/~cobaltjade




Chapter 13: Checkmate



*Where am I?*

She couldn't move; she couldn't feel. She couldn't see. But she could hear... 
faintly... the click of sharp-heeled footsteps, the throb of distant 
machinery. And she felt the presence of living minds near her, though she 
couldn't communicate with them. Only with Scirocco had she been able to do 
that. But she could sense those familiar to her when they were within 
telepathic range, and she knew without a doubt they were the missing members 
of her team. And that all of them trapped.

Allison made a quick assessment of her situation. The last thing she'd 
remembered was going into the steam room at the health club. She'd stretched 
out in the comforting heat, intending to spend ten, maybe fifteen minutes 
there. But something went wrong. She'd drifted off to sleep in imperceptible 
degrees, and regained consciousness in this strange, paralyzed state. By the 
nature of the current crisis, it could only be Plastica's doing. She 
shuddered at the thought of what the former MIT plastics expert had done to 
her while she'd been unconscious. 

She took a quick, dispassionate survey of her body; a mental-metabolic skill 
she had, useful for physical training or medical emergencies. It was as she 
had feared. She was plastic. Since she'd been mannequinized in an unconscious 
state, her eyes were closed. She gave a grim mental chuckle. *Well, that 
explains that.* How could plastic eyes see, anyway? Or plastic blood flow, to 
keep a brain oxygenated and its neurons firing normally? Or plastic ears hear 
--

But that was irrelevant. The first order of the day was to send a message to 
Cinnabar, as Cinnabar, when in danger of her life, had sent a message to her.

Swiftly she sent her mental summons. She couldn't communicate with Cinnabar 
until she came closer. But even at this range (assuming she and the others 
were, indeed, in Plastica's mannequin factory) Cinnabar should be able to 
accurately pinpoint their location and take the steps to find them. It was 
their only hope.

She made out low conversation at her rear. She felt its vibration more than 
heard it, her timpanic membranes being muffled; the voices were feminine, but 
she could make out little else. There was laughter. Then came the sinister 
scrape of heavy objects being moved, or resettled. 

She slammed out her *pings* with renewed vigor, telling herself that Cinnabar 
and Darlene would be here soon... 

#

"... and then we should --" Cinnabar stopped talking, a strange expression 
coming over her face. Cal thought she was listening to a distant radio 
transmission. She held her head still for several long seconds, listening, 
then came back to herself with a slight shake of her auburn-maned head. 
"Plastica has Allison," she said softly. "In her factory, she thinks."

"Is she all right?" Darlene asked concernedly. She was driving, her gloved 
hands gripped tightly on the wheel. 

"No. She's a mannequin, like the others," Cinnabar said. "But unlike them, 
she has her telepathic powers." She glanced at the deserted road ahead of 
them. The BONDMACHEN MANNEQUINS sign glimmered in the distance, outlined in 
lurid pink neon. "Her signal's getting stronger. She's *there,* I know it."

"Can she tell us exactly where in the factory she is?" Cal said. His voice 
sounded tinny through ARTIE's speakers. True to their word Cinnabar had let 
him come along, guiding ARTIE through slave/master controls back at HQ. He 
was now hovering in the backseat, two tentacular eyes peering over the 
headrests at the two women in front.

Cinnabar gave a sigh. "No. When they plasticized her, she had her eyes 
closed. She's in the factory and the others are near her, but that's all she 
knows."

"Does Plastica know about her telepathy?" Darlene asked. "Maybe she's using 
her as a lure."

"No," Cinnabar said. "It was a private power, used only between us. Not even 
the other members of the team knew, before I was rescued from the factory." 

"So Plastica knows we're coming, but not that we have a way to guide us in." 
Darlene mulled it over, a thoughtful look on her face. "Hmm. Seems like we've 
got a slight advantage."

Cal wasn't so sure. Though Plastica didn't seem to have many lackies at her 
disposal there was also no telling what traps she might have rigged up 
inside. Cal carried twelve doses of the chrysteel and mannequin gas antidotes 
in a special drawer in ARTIE's side. They had wanted to bring more, but there 
had been no time to make them. He also carried a computer map, downloaded 
from City Hall, of the  factory's physical plant. His overriding goal was to 
find Lori if he could, and free her first. Cinnabar hadn't gone into detail 
about what Plastica might have done to her; but Cal had seen the mannequins 
himself. The realization that Lori was probably one filled him with white-hot 
anger.

Too soon they came to the Bondmachen factory and the tangled swamplands they 
lay at its rear. Together they stood looking up at it grimly. 

"Well, let's go in," Cinnabar said. Darlene agreed. 

Stealthily they approached the decaying edifice, climbing a rusted metal 
handladder up the building's side. Cal levitated behind them, using all of 
ARTIE's sensor array to scan for trouble... the hidden warmth of an infrared 
beam, the slow whir of a camera motor. He heard and sensed nothing, but that 
didn't mean they weren't being observed. Slowly they made for a landing about 
two stories off the ground, near the factory's middle. A door stood there, 
which was easily forced; they ducked inside.

They were in a utility corridor of sorts. Cinnabar stood still, cocking her 
head for second. "There," she said at last, pointing below her. "We'll go 
down those stairs. Darlene, stay behind me. Cal, bring up the rear, watch in 
back and above us. Keep looking in the infrared, too. Who knows what we'll 
find."

Silently they slipped down the stairs. Both were in full costume, Darlene in 
a blue miniskirt with yellow boots, gloves and mask, Cinnabar in a gleaming 
silver unitard with a red-orange belt and boots, the same color as her hair. 
Their sculpted muscles were taut as springs, yet looked able to explode into 
looseness in a second's notice... striking powerfully, but also with grace 
and finesse. Lori had been built that way too. Cal had put it down to her 
judo classes, not even entertaining, in a playful way, the truth. 

They came a door with a pressure bar and an unlit EXIT sign. Cinnabar pushed 
it open gently, peering into the dark.

They saw a large, deserted space: it could have been offices once, or an 
employee cafeteria; no way of knowing. By the smell and the dirt it had been 
deserted for years. Swiftly they crept through; both Cinnabar and Darlene 
donning night vision goggles, smaller and sleeker than the bulky headsets the 
military used. A liability in a fight, but for searching, very useful.

"They might be guarded," Darlene whispered as their boots make tracemarks in 
the dust. "Have you thought of that?"

"Yes. But we will have to see." Cinnabar pushed open a second door, emerging 
into a larger space, though still not as high as the main part of the factory 
was. Girders crisscrossed above them, lost in shadow; to the left and right, 
vague banks of machinery. But the eyes of all three were fixed to the front. 
A maze of mirrors sparkled there... some still, some spinning silently. 
Darlene gave a surprised grunt, and Cinnabar swore under her breath. It was 
the carnival maze to end all carnival mazes... some mirrors were tinted, 
others plain; more than a few were warped. And some showed reflections of 
things that couldn't possibly be there.

"Store display mirrors," Cinnabar said in a low voice. "They must have been 
warehoused here for ages, until Plastic thought to make use of them."

"That's right," Plastica said. They looked up; but all they saw was a speaker 
grill in the wall. "Hello, Cinnabar. I see you're in good health after your 
time in the cube; too bad. I would --" she stopped short. Cal guessed she'd 
noticed Darlene and ARTIE; she hadn't been expecting Cinnabar to have allies.

Darlene folded her arms defiantly, just below her massive-breasted chest. A 
shit-eating grin broke out on her face. "Hello yourself, you silicon-titted 
bitch."

A barely audible gasp was heard through the speaker. What followed next was 
all cold malevolence. "I don't know who you are, *girl,*" Plastica said 
menacingly. "But you'll be joining my mannequin collection soon enough. As 
will you, Scirocco. Your floating trashcan doesn't impress me either."

Darlene laughed, showing Plastica she felt unafraid. "He will."

"Oh, I'm trembling in my boots," Plastica said sarcastically. 

Cal thought of some choice things to say to her, but Cinnabar broke in. "I 
have no intention of being your next art project, Plastica. You'd better tell 
Kylasha she's going to be very disappointed." 

Darlene's face scrunched up: *Who?* she mouthed. But Cinnabar only shook her 
head. "Later," she whispered.

Cinnabar seemed to have struck a sore point. "I will have you no matter what 
you intend," Plastica growled. "And if you won't willingly give yourself to 
me, I will take you."

Cal heard a faint hiss from the girders. "Run!" he barked. "From above! It's 
--"

Both superheroines leapt to the side, Darlene with a backwards handspring, 
Cinnabar flying, as a thick-bodied hose fell from the ceiling spraying pink 
gas. Cal maneuvered ARTIE to the side of it, using the robot's levitation 
rotors to blow it away. The heavy substance was more mist than gas, and 
within seconds it had sunk to the floor and disappeared.

An angry noise came from the speaker. "Let's see you try to find your friends 
in my Maze, then!" The voice cut off, replaced by distorted carnival music.

Both superheroines looked at the mirrors. They ran from floor to ceiling; 
there would be no flying over. "Let's break them," Darlene said, raising her 
fist.

"What if a member of the team had been hidden behind them, or some other 
helpless victim?" Cinnabar shook her head. "No -- we'll have to do this the 
old-fashioned way. Let's break up and search individually. Allison's summons 
is coming from that direction, so they must all be on the other side. That at 
least is true."

"Can you communicate with her yet?" Darlene asked hopefully.

"No, I'm still out of range. It only works within twenty or so feet. But I 
can feel her thoughts." A look of renewed determination came over her face. 
"Let's go. We'll all take different paths, but mark the floor so you can find 
a way back." She walked into the shifting mirrors, trailing the point of her 
sword along the carpeted floor, where it left a torn furrow. Cal followed, 
using a narrow laser beam to likewise burn his path. They soon lost each 
other in the shifting surfaces.

#

*She must have prepared this for days,* Cinnabar thought. There seemed to 
hundreds, thousands of mirrors, some static, others rotating or slanting at 
odd angles. It soon became impossible to trace her path back by the mark on 
the carpet, as the maze itself was slowly shifting. Openings turned into 
walls, intersections into corners. Several times she caught sight of Darlene 
or ARTIE making their way through the corridors, but in a turn of a 
reflective surface, they would vanish. Some of the mirrors were doors, a 
slight push giving access to another section of the maze. After many long 
minutes it became clear that no matter how simple the maze looked from 
outside, it would not be easy going. To add to the danger, she was always 
aware the mannequin gas could suddenly come spraying out from the ceiling or 
floor. 

Plastica employed other sorts of trickery as well. Several times Cinnabar was 
caught unaware by a gun-wielding assailant who appeared around a corner... 
and disappeared again, just as completely. None of the assailants were Iza, 
Tiger or Phanxine, so well described by Cal, so she surmised they were 
holograms designed to mislead her. Worse yet, some of the reflections were 
real... mannequinized humans placed there by Plastica, to fool them into 
making attacks. Cinnabar was not fooled, however. The waxy sheen of the skin 
was a dead giveaway every time, even in a reflection. She prayed Darlene and 
ARTIE would think twice, too.

"Having fun?" Plastica mocked. Her voice trailed away into echoes of laughter.

*Bitch,* Cinnabar thought. She hadn't given any thought to what she would do 
to Plastica when she caught her. But a mummy-wrap spa treatment in her 
chrysteel solution sounded good.

She pushed on, holding Sabreglass before her. Allison's pulses varied in 
intensity at every twist and turn. She might have been walking for hours in a 
circle in the center, and never know it. She stopped, briefly regarding the 
floor. It had been scored and re-scored throughout her journey. *Maybe I 
should go under the maze?*

Then she saw Shana. 

It was only for a second. She had been mounted on a mannequin stand, arms and 
legs splayed in a giant X; then the reflection revolved away. But it was 
Shana, she was sure, and she went in the same direction, surprised in turn by 
another: a giant snowglobe, a pale blue figure suspended within: Lori! 
Cinnabar rushed to the mirror, but the walls revolved again, sealing her off. 
Cursing, she slammed her fists on the unresponsive surface. With that she 
sensed it was more than a mere mirror; titanium was behind it, and 
sophisticated projection circuitry.

|| Cinnabar? || 

The voice was faint, wispy; but it was Allison's. She was very near now.

|| I'm here, ||  she said.  || Very close. Plastica has me trapped in a maze 
of mirrors. || 

|| Let me guide you. || 

|| You already are, but the maze isn't cooperating. I'm going to have to go 
through. || 

She trailed her fingers along the silver wall, trying to find a weak spot. 
There. She took a breath, and backed up for a running start. Raising her 
sword, she whirled it before her, forming a high-speed sonic shield. With an 
echoing cry she went into the glass wall, and went through it, in a blizzard 
of shards...

... and found herself on the other side. She blinked. She was in a sleekly 
decorated showroom for a high-end mannequin manufacturer, complete with 
Italian furniture and exotic potted plants. Halogen spotlights shone down 
from above. To her side was a reception desk with a computer terminal on it; 
in front of her, about twenty feet away, a metallic wall with a logo than 
read PLASTIC FANTASTIC in shifting, electric-hued chrome. And to either side 
of her, the missing members of Team Paragon.

She wore under her breath at what Plastica had done to her friends. Shana's 
humiliation was even worse in person; she looked like she was gasping in 
shock at the thick pole that impaled her, but her eyes were wide and blank. 
Cinnabar might not have even known her if she hadn't heard Lori's story of 
what happened at Sexateria. She wanted to touch Shana, reassure her; but she 
dared not. She hadn't wanted anyone's eyes on her when she'd been Plastica's 
victim, naked and hog-tied inside the chrysteel cube. That everyone had to 
examine her -- and know exactly what had been to her -- in order to free her 
was a sexually-tinged shame that would last for years.

RATED X, read the folded cardboard placard that stood in front of her. 
Cinnabar's fists balled in fury.

Next to her knelt Noelani. She had been coated with a thick layer of shiny 
purplish plastic and was quite still. Her head was bowed, hair forming two 
curtains on either side of her face that pooled thickly on the floor. Her 
wrists were bound loosely behind her with a purple rope. SUBMISSION IN BLUE, 
read the card. The space beside her was empty.

Cinnabar turned. Across from Shana stood a pyramidal crystal that cast out 
rainbows from the light, inside it a vague figure caught in motion. *Gina?* 
Cinnabar stepped closer. Gina was in her crystal form, transparent, as was 
her prison... not mannequinized, only trapped. But she was frozen like a fly 
in amber. IMPRISMED, read the card. Lori was in a similarly trapped state 
next to her, poised on one foot inside a giant glass globe. The youngest 
member of the team was a frosty bluish-green in color, dusted with artificial 
snow. She had probably been caught throwing one of her iceblasts. Cinnabar's 
heart sank. *How will we ever get you out of there?* she thought.  

|| Cinn? || 

Allison's voice was as clear as it ever was, but she was no longer flesh and 
blood. She stood, regally erect, at the end of the row on a short platform 
that was a facsimile of a chess board. She looked to be carved from solid 
ivory, a crown formed from a similar material resting on her head: WHITE 
QUEEN - CHECKMATE! 

|| I'm here, ||  Cinnabar said, swallowing hard at what had been done to her, 
to all of them.  || I can see you. || 

|| What am I? ||  Allison asked. Her eyes were closed and she looked 
peaceful. 

|| A chess piece, ||  Cinnabar said.  || Not unattractive, ||  she added. Alli
son's body, as with all of the team members, had been stripped splendidly 
nude; it brought back long-buried memories of the brief affair they had 
shared. Mixed in with it came memories of her sensual bombardment inside the 
chrysteel cube. Seeing her friends similarly imprisoned was at once 
repulsive, and strangely arousing. She shook her head, briefly disoriented. 
*What is happening to me?*

"Hello again, Cinnabar," Plastica said in a creamy tone. "I see you've made 
it out of the maze. Your little friend is still inside, though she's probably 
met a nasty fate by now. " She chuckled. "And you've found your teammates. 
How sweet!"

"Yes," Cinnabar said, straining to keep her tone neutral. She turned from 
Allison, trying to suppress the sudden desire she felt. 

|| Who is that, ||  Allison said.

|| Plastica. She's not here, just observing us. || 

"As you see, they've become display pieces for my new company," Plastica 
gloated, ignorant of the silent exchange that took place under her nose. 
"Showroom samples, in other words, to show buyers what I can do. I had 
planned to move them all into Sexateria, to decorate checkout and the Leather 
Lounge. But, as so often happens, the lure of the market has called. They've 
been sold, and at record prices. Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, they will 
all be shipped to their new homes... Chrystar to Rome, Arctica to Sydney; new 
additions to art galleries, both of them. Blue Cymbidium has been bought by 
an opium dealer in Thailand. I hated to part with Xenon, but she's been 
bought by a wealthy bondage aficionado in New York, to model his collection 
of vintage whips and harnesses. As for White Rose, a certain computer magnate 
-- who I'm not at will to disclose -- has paid a very high sum for her; one 
of his first programs was a simulated chess game." She chuckled. "So say 
goodbye, Cinnabar. You won't ever be together again."

|| Cinnabar, does she mean -- ||  Allison's mental voice sounded unsteady,

|| I won't let her, ||  Cinnabar said. To Plastica, "Team Paragon are not 
objects to be bought and sold, Plastica."

"Really," Plastica said in archly amused tone. "Speak for yourself, 
Cinnabar." The last spotlit area, the empty one, suddenly had a familiar 
occupant. "Look!" 

Against her will Cinnabar stepped forward, steeling herself for a trap. A 
still image of herself stood there, a hologram or some other kind of 
projection. Yet not quite herself; it had the airbrushed perfection of a 
computer simulation, or a magazine nude. It stood with its arms at its sides, 
head erect, eyes blank... a passive receptacle for whatever might be done to 
it.

"Yes, a Scirocco toy to make my collection complete," Plastica said. "How 
shall I pose you, to play off your name and identity? Shall you be cinnabar 
--" the pale flesh of the figure changed a rich reddish-brown color -- "Or 
steel... " and the figure shone  silver with a bluish cast, highlights 
cupping its outhrust breasts and denuded sex -- "Or even sandstone, 
perhaps... " and the figure changed yet again, to a ruddy orange color with a 
faintly granular surface texture, as if unearthed from some Egyptian tomb. 

|| She's playing with you, ||  Allison warned.  || Don't fall for it. Don't 
go near that thing, whatever it is. || 

|| I'm not, ||  Cinnabar said. Yet she couldn't help herself. By 
imperceptible degrees she found herself moving closer until she stood nearly 
in front of her twin. Her mind felt fogged. She began to reach out, stopping 
herself just in time. *A projection?* she thought. *Another kind of mirror?* 

"Like it?" Plastica said. The figure's eyes snapped open and looked at her.

Cinnabar started and jerked back a step. But all the statue did was look. "I 
prefer the steel version," she said evenly.

"Steel it is, then," The statue became silver again, gleaming as if fresh 
from the furnace. Cinnabar couldn't help but be fascinated. A strange scent 
was in the air, a smell of a smell, rather than the smell itself, acting on 
the primal centers deep within her brain. She let the point of her sword drop 
to the floor, eyes locked on the thing. Slowly it began to move, beckoning 
her. Smiling seductively, its silvery hand moved to its mons.

|| Cinn? Are you okay? ||  Allison's voice was faint, distant. 

"Look at it, Cinnabar," Plastica crooned. "See how perfect it is, how hard 
and sleek. Don't you want to touch it? Let your hands and mouth explore it?" 
The figure pivoted, its fingers tracing the exposed groove of its pubic lips. 
Still watching her, it moved its other hand to its hard, domelike breasts, 
circling its bulletlike nipples with its fingertips. It spread its thighs 
slightly, letting Cinnabar see the channel between them and the gleaming hand 
that stroked it.

"Look at how she enjoys herself," Plastica said as the hand became to pump. 
"That could be you. You too could enjoy those pleasures, locked in steel, 
forever..." Cinnabar recoiled, yet she still could not look away. The 
statue's smile turned into silent gasps of pleasure, yet its eyes remained 
locked on hers. *Join me -- *

Cinnabar let her sword drop. She began to reach out -- 

|| No, Cinn, don't! ||  Allison's mental command was loud, and sharp as a 
goad. Cinnabar shook her head. From far above she heard a faint scrape: 
Danger! She had only  milliseconds to backflip out of the way before the cage 
come down, slamming on the floor where she had stood with a heavy clang. Pink 
gas immediately began spraying into the interior from the bars. She would 
have been trapped.

Allison went frantic demanding what the noise and the hiss was.  || I'm all 
right, ||  Cinnabar said. She realized she'd been drugged somehow, by a 
subtle variation of Plastica's mannequin gas.  || But I can't play into her 
trap anymore. || 

Roaring, she raised her sword and rushed at her doppelganger... and went 
through it, and the hidden doorway beyond. 

#

Darlene stumbled through yet another shifting mirror. She'd lost Cinnabar 
long ago, and ARTIE too. She couldn't even hear them through the damnable 
carnival music. To make things worse, mannequins had been installed at 
various places in the maze, to confuse them or draw their fire. 

*Hell with it,* Darlene grumbled. *It's time for some old-fashioned muscle.*

The next mirror she came to, she lifted, tearing it out of the moorings in 
the floor with a grinding wrench. That one she stacked against the corridor 
wall, and the next, and soon she came out of the maze.

But not where Team Paragon had been hidden. She was in the main part of the 
mannequin factory itself, a four-story high space stocked with various large 
machines whose purpose looked sinister.  To her left were long rows of 
shelving stacked high with recumbent mannequins. More mannequins stood on the 
floor, wrapped tightly in plastic as if awaiting delivery.  

She hadn't found the Team, but she'd found something just as important -- 
Plastica's main base of operation. If the villainess was anywhere, she'd be 
here. She walked out in a crouch, senses alert to danger. There was lighting 
high above but the floor itself was dim, and filled with confusing shadows. 
She passed to the left of the shrink-wrapped mannequins, noting invoices had 
been taped to each naked pate. * They used to be people, * Darlene thought, * 
Living, breathing. Now they're just things. * The thought filled her with 
anger.

Darlene heard a muffled click. Whirling, she saw the nozzle of a weapon aimed 
at her between the mannequin's shoulders, where its owner had hidden.  
"Ah-hah! Gotcha!" Pink gas sprayed out.

Darlene rolled sideways, narrowly missing the cloud. Another followed; if she 
hadn't leapt to her feet again, it would have caught her on the ground. 
Cursing, she bounded to her feet and ran, making for the shelves.

"Stop! Stop!" the shooter shouted. Darlene hadn't gotten a good look at her, 
but she knew she wasn't Plastica, for all her gleeful fury. She crouched 
behind a shelf, peering out over the bodies of the mannequins. Her stalker 
was young (though not as young as Darlene) and had light skin and short black 
hair.  She wore a dark-colored jumpsuit and the expression on her face was 
determined; she hefted her weapon with skill and strength. Her eyes darted 
back and forth as she searched, finger close on the trigger. It was clear she 
thought herself as invincible. 

Darlene glanced above her. There were four more tiers of mannequins on the 
metal shelving above. With a slight shove, they could be...

Grinning, she put her shoulder to the shelving, and pushed. 

The girl had walked on, but trotted back as the shelves began to creak. "All 
right, come out! I know you're there!" She poked her weapon at the stacks, 
walking slowly down the aisle. But she did not bother to look above her. 
Darlene grunted, and the shelves tilted... sending thirty or forty mannequins 
sliding off, and tumbling down. The girl gave a little shriek and turned to 
run, but her heavy weapon hampered her. In an eyeblink she was buried beneath 
a pile of plastic torsos and limbs.

*Poetic justice,* Darlene thought grimly. No doubt she'd had a hand in 
plasticizing many of the mannequins herself. A faint wail told Darlene she 
was trapped, but not hurt too badly. She couldn't escape by herself, that was 
for sure.

The matter taken care of, Darlene walked into the open again....... only to 
feel something cool and sticky hit her with force in the midsection. It 
propelled her backwards, to mash her against the side of one of the tanks. 
Instinctively, she closed her eyes and mouth, but the flow continued its 
pressure... slick and powerful, more like oil than liquid. She felt her arms 
and legs splay themselves out, pinning her against the curve. * What is it -- 
!*

The pressure abated, and she opened her eyes. A black girl stood in front of 
her grinning triumphantly, holding what looked like a fireman's hose. The 
cool liquid had dried, encasing her in a transparent blob against the side of 
the tank. Only her head remained exposed. "Thought you could get away, huh?" 
Phanxine said.

Darlene tried to move, couldn't. In fact, she couldn't budge an inch. *Holy 
spitwad,* she groaned. Her head lashed to and fro, to no avail.

"It's chrysteel," the black girl said. "Guess you were in the right place at 
the right time, honey? Or the wrong place, at the wrong time..." She put down 
the hose and lifted the plasticizing gun from her back. "Looks like 
Plastica's gonna get a permanent addition to the factory floor."

#

Cal heard a distant crash. He didn't know what it meant; but he had to find 
out.

He scooted down the nearest corridor through several twists and turns. In a 
few seconds he found a large hole in the glass wall. Beyond it was a 
corporate showroom type place... and the missing members of Team Paragon 
arranged on low platforms as if on display. An empty cage stood before one of 
the platforms. Pink gas hung thickly in the air. 

"Cinn? Darlene?" he called. No answer. If it was a trap, it had already been 
sprung... and by the gap in the wall, its prey already gone. He rotated 
slowly in the air, trying to figure out what to do... and blushed beet-red in 
his seat back at HQ. Neither Cinnabar or Darlene had told him the other 
members had been posed so... erotically. 

Then he saw Lori. She was pale blue in color, naked, balanced on the toes of 
one foot with her arms outstretched as if she was about to take flight, or 
was dancing... trapped not only in plastic, but frozen and drowned as well, 
in the center of a giant snowglobe filled with tiny flakes. 

He flitted over to the globe, hovering frantically before the curve. "Lori! 
Lori!"  If he'd been there in person, he would have banging on the glass 
sphere that imprisoned her. But she neither blinked nor moved. All signs of 
life were frozen.

He wanted to shatter it immediately, but realized the outcome might damage 
the other statues. Quickly he flashed through ARTIE's toolbox menu, finally 
selecting an industrial strength drill. He moved down to the bottom of the 
sphere and began to drill. In a few seconds the hole was draining, and he 
began to drill another. If he made a circle of them, he might use a saw to 
connect them. 

He glanced at the statue next to Lori. She had been trapped in a similar 
fashion, but inside a clear, solid pyramid. Remembering Cinnabar's plight he 
extracted the chrysteel dissolvant with ARTIE's left claw as the right 
continued to drill. He sprayed it on the surface. The viscous, silvery liquid 
shimmered like starlight and flowed like water over the pyramid; where it 
touched, the surface began to smoke.

He turned back to Lori's globe, drilling six more holes that formed a rough 
circle at the globe's base. Then, switching to a mechanical saw, he started 
to cut between them. In a few more seconds it was as if a bathtub plug had 
been pulled; the globe began to drain in earnest, sending a steady cascade of 
water across the showroom floor, and he was able to locate the seam that 
joined the two halves together. Using ARTIE's main manipulator claws, he 
pulled them apart and let them roll away. 

"... uh... " A female moan made him turn around; the chrysteel pyramid had 
melted completely and the statue within was coming to life. It had been posed 
in a running position but now sank to the floor, kneeling, bracing itself on 
its arms. Another superheroine... made completely of crystal this time. 
*Chrystar,* he recalled. She raised her head. Though it was hard to see her 
features he thought they registered surprise. "Wha -- ?"

"I'm a friend," he said quickly, scooting down next to her. "This is ARTIE, a 
robot belonging to Fem-Fantastique. I'm just driving him. I'm Cal, Lori's 
boyfriend."

"Holy fuck," Chrystar muttered groggily. "How did you get involved in all 
this?"

"It's too long to explain, but Cinnabar and Darlene sent me to rescue you."

Chrystar held her hand to the side of her head in a comic way. Like the 
mannequins, she was bald, and had some sort of writing on her scalp. "Uh. I 
think I'm going to need more than a few minutes to recover. That was *nasty.* 
When I get my hands on that skinny-ass skanky freak  -- " 

Cal was not about to let her mouth off. Thinking ahead, he put the two 
canisters of antidote into her hands. "Here. We have an antidote; help me 
transform the others back."

"But --" Chrystar said, pointing. Cal turned ARTIE to see the ceiling peeled 
back and four capture tongs rising into the air, the remaining statues 
swinging beneath them. Plastica's laughter echoed loudly.

"Bitch! Where's she taking them?" Chrystar said.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out!" Cal revved ARTIE's motors and sped 
after them. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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