The socially awkward villain's furry superpower

Meraton was almost used to being called in by the Rapid Response Task Force (HRT) to deal with issues related to "the boss".

Most new heroes... or rather, aspiring heroes, will probably get into some minor trouble every month.

In larger, more prosperous cities where villains do exist, trouble is more frequent, but even so, it's rarely the same person causing trouble each time.

This "boss" and her gang of kids, however, tried to break the rules and make the exception the norm.

Meraton pulled up her mask, rubbed her eyes, and then pulled it down again. Her teammates in the armored vehicle deliberately avoided looking at her.

Who could blame her for being a little tired? It was almost dinnertime. She should have been in her little apartment, eating canned pasta, instead of being sent to some super crime scene.

The armored vehicle stopped, the rear door opened, and the team members jumped out. Four of the six team members carried non-lethal weapons: guns capable of firing electric fences and large-caliber guns that fired beanbag rounds.

They also carried Tasers and pepper spray canisters on their hips. The last two members were equipped with standard assault rifles loaded with a mixture of tracer, armor-piercing, and hollow-point ammunition.

The rapid response task force will fight violence with violence. Any troublemaker who engages in minor skirmishes, shows restraint, and avoids civilians will be met with a beanbag round.

A villain who goes on a killing spree will be shot dead on the spot, like a mad dog.

This is the price civilization has to pay in this era where heroes and villains coexist.

Meraton was the last to jump out of the car, then straightened her back and struck a hero's pose. She wasn't actually that keen on playing the hero.

This is too exhausting, and all other heroes gain from it is a better public image.

She doesn't care whether her dolls sell well or not, nor does she care how many followers her "Werther" (a social media platform similar to Twitter) account has. What she cares about is getting things done well.

Somehow, this has become a unique style, and those damn rapid response task force PR representatives actually quite like it.

It has a sense of "sincerity" and "pragmatism," which appeals to a specific group of people.

The key point is that when she got out of the car, she acted as if she was going to collect a debt from someone who owed her a large sum of money.

What she saw were several warehouses, a few small factories, and some vacant lots nearby. This was a relatively active industrial area in Eau Clare, a city that had never been known for its industry.

Several police cars and several rapid response task force vans were parked at both ends of the street. Although the sun had not yet set, the white and green police lights were already flashing, illuminating the area brightly.

There weren't many onlookers yet, but she knew the situation would change soon. The news team was probably speeding along, vying to be the first to arrive.

Most people's attention was focused on an inconspicuous building in the middle of the street. It was a warehouse made of cinder bricks, with a loading door in the front and no yard around it.

A row of men and women were being held aside. She counted them; there were nine people in total, all dressed in identical black jumpsuits, making it difficult to discern their specific features.

Whether fat or thin, male or female, they were all hidden by the loose clothing. The pile of helmets next to them suggested that things were not so simple.

"What on earth is going on?" she muttered to herself.

“Madam,” a team member approached her; he was a legal advisor. His weapons and armor were relatively lightweight, and he almost always carried a tablet computer.

"The heroes of today are over there. If you'd like to talk to them."

“Okay, of course,” she said. The team member led the way, but kept a distance she could talk to. “What’s going on here?”

"We received several calls from pedestrians and passersby who heard gunshots coming from the warehouse. There was also a distress call from a young woman whose car had been wrecked over there."

He pointed to a small alley next to the warehouse, where there was indeed a totaled vehicle. Judging from the condition of the car, a van in the alley had crashed into its side.

"When we arrived at the scene, we found 'the boss' and her, uh, team, as well as 'Glamour Woman,' a hero belonging to the Rapid Response Task Force. They apprehended some suspects."

“I saw that,” Meraton said. “This ‘boss’ is quite the troublemaker. Do you know the timeline yet?”

“Well, it’s not clear yet, ma’am. There was quite a bit of time between receiving the emergency call and us arriving at the scene,” he said.

"Why is this happening?" she asked.

"The initial report did not indicate any masked individuals were involved. The police were the first to arrive. Well, it's possible these heroes left and then came back."

Meraton snorted. This was a bit strange. "Why would you think that?"

"Because they have ice cream."

When Meraton found "Boss," her gang of kids (was there another new one?), and "Glamour Girl," they were gathered next to a bus stop.

The "boss" stood ramrod straight, her expression serious, her lips pressed into a thin line, and Meraton could see that her eyebrows were also tightly furrowed. In her hand, she held a chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream, which had already been partially licked.

The children also had ice cream, but most of them got it all over their faces, hands, and clothes.

The bear girl, "Little Ursa," pushed her plastic bear mask up high so she could eat her ice cream, and Meraton was pretty sure she couldn't see anything at that moment.

“So,” Meraton said, stepping closer, “what’s going on this time?”

Sienna shrugged. “They kidnapped my sister—one of my companions.” She pointed to two girls, one of whom Meraton didn’t recognize. The girl didn’t seem to be dressed up much except for wearing a half-mask and a lab coat.

“She also kidnapped a friend,” Sienna added.

The legal team member was taking notes, even though she knew it was all being recorded. "So, they kidnapped two children from the street or something?"

“We were at the dollar store!” Trinity… one of the Trinity said.

Meraton rubbed her eyes. She had a lot to say. This "boss" was a real headache. But then again, how could you stop a young woman from saving her own sister?

It's an open secret that the "boss" has at least one subordinate who is her sister. Everyone guesses that the two girls are sisters, and the third is a family friend who came with her. Now there's a new girl.

As we all know, "Super Day" is often most effective for young people, but it usually refers to teenagers to young adults in their early twenties, with an average age of about twenty-one.

Judging from the situation of the "boss" and her group, they are likely to single-handedly make all the relevant statistics abnormal.

The "boss" nodded, and Meraton quickly snapped out of his daze.

"They did kidnap two people. We know where they took them because... well, don't tell anyone, okay?"

Meraton patted the teammate on the shoulder, pausing the recording. She knew he would resume recording at the first opportunity. "Continue?"

“Trinity can see all of her… clones,” the “boss” said.

Meraton nodded. This wasn't too surprising. Some people who could create clones could see and perceive their surroundings through their clones.

This usually comes with some drawbacks, such as clones only existing for a limited time. As things stand, Trinity seems to be able to create at most three clones that are exactly the same as or nearly identical to herself.

This might be the best course of action; rapid response task forces are very wary of those with exponential growth potential.

“We’ll keep it a secret. So, you know where they took people. Or rather, you know where one of them was taken. So why don’t you call the police?”

"Glamour Woman" glanced at "Boss," then at Meraton. There seemed to be other hidden matters, but the girl remained silent. Perhaps she could ask her later.

“We don’t have time! There’s an interrogation room inside,” Sienna said. “We’re coming as fast as we can.”

“Okay,” Meraton said, “what’s going on here?” She turned and gestured toward the warehouse behind her, asking, “What did you find in there?”

The "boss" wiggled his chin as he stared at the warehouse, then turned his attention back to Meraton.

When did she transform from a shy, clumsy girl into someone that Meraton would feel intimidated by if he met her in a dimly lit alley?

Something about this child has changed, or perhaps those traits that were already there have become more pronounced since their first meeting.

“There’s nothing we can’t handle,” she said.

And then nothing happened.

They asked a few more questions but got no answers, and then the girls left, leaving the Rapid Response Team (HRT) and Meraton with a whole host of questions to explore.