Issue #3

"Style is All That Counts"
This is a work of pure fiction. Though it may have been inspired by real events, nothing in the following work ever occurred, either in world history or the author's lifetime. Persons resembling anyone living or dead are solely coincidental. Thank you. Enjoy the story.

Outside a major modeling agency, a woman stands in the rain.

She stands alone.

She feels slighted, insulted, rejected.

A woman, sporting a short-cropped hairdo with a long bundle of hair draping over her face, stands on the sidewalk alongside an office labeled "Virginia Modeling Agency." She sits on the curb, putting her head in her hands and starting to cry. Much to her surprise, a limo pulls up alongside the curb where she sits. The door opens, and a man reaches his hand toward the woman.

"Get in."

Mystified, the woman takes the man's hand and enters the limo.Inside, the two get to talking.

"I saw you sitting there, and I realized you were on my list."

"List?"

"We're having a nationwide model search. Your name was downloaded into a large computer system when you applied for your first modeling job." The man turns to his console. The woman is unable to see what is on the screen, or what the man is punching in. "What's your name, miss?"

Stuttering, the woman barely manages to stammer "Jeri Tyler."

The console the man is tapping into reads:

-SUBJECT FOUND FOR EXPERIMENTAL SUPERHUMAN UPGRADE.

"Yes, I've found you on my list. I'll call in for my photography team to get ready for you."

The console now reads:

-REJECTED MODEL -- PREPARE "STYLE" PACKAGE FOR SUBJECT.

PROCESSING ... "STYLE" PACKAGE READY FOR SUBJECT IMPLANTATION.

In Motown Heat's 7th Precinct offices, Ramm and Flea confer over a desk, where they are both talking on a speakerphone to Cutup, still in the hospital from the injuries inflicted by Grungecut (see last issue).

"When do you think you'll be out of there?"

"The doctors tell me not for another two weeks, Jack. I hope you'll be ready for me when I get back."

"Don't worry, Jasmine. We're gonna have the biggest party this precinct's seen since Buck Harris's retirement bash."

"Jill, don't you think the fire department's had enough police precincts burn down this year?"

Everyone laughs, then the speakerphone beeps.,p> "Sorry, Jasmine, we got another call on another line. We gotta go."

"Take care, Jasmine. Cutup's gonna be needed soon."

"I will, Jack. See you around."

Cutup hangs up, and Flea picks up the phone receiver. After minimal talk, she puts the phone down and turns to Ramm.

"Jack, we've got a missing person report from the Fourth Precinct, referred to us."

"Give me the particulars."

Flea hangs up. "All right, the name is Jeri Tyler, she is a white Caucasian female, about five foot seven and weighing about one hundred pounds. She was reported missing two days ago, when her boyfriend said she was going to the Virginia Modeling Agency to submit her portfolio. We're being advised that she's a diabetic, and that she hasn't taken any insulin for the time she's been missing."

"Any photos?"

"Fourth precinct is faxing one over right now."

Ramm goes over to the fax machine, as a photo of Jeri Tyler is spit out of the machine. Flea and Ramm look it over.

"She sure doesn't look very much like a model."

"That's the trend now, Jack. If you want to be beautiful, you have to be an anorexic airhead."

Ramm nods. "Oh well. Let's head out to the Virginia Modeling Agency and look for anything to lead us to Jeri."

"Fine. I'll ..."

"I know, Jill, 'I'll meet you there.'"

Flea giggles as she jumps out the window.

Deep within the world headquarters of Dix Technologies, the crime lord of the Yin-Yan Hex syndicate, Charles Dix McCordill, studies Jeri Tyler, who is strapped to a table before him.

"I know what my dear rival Virginia Maroone did to poor Grungecut. My moles at Maroone Technologies gave me word that they'd turned him into some kind of mostrosity called Demolition. It pains me so ..."

"UNTIE ME, YOU S.O.B.!"

"Oh, sorry, Miss Tyler, I can't do that. After all, I found you outside Miss Maroone's modeling agency. Don't you feel the least bit slighted that they couldn't see your natural grace and style?"

Tyler, who had been angry to the point of tears, sniffles. "I ... I guess so."

"Well, then, don't you think it would be poetic justice if you became a superhuman and started taking out your payback on the woman who snubbed you?"

Tyler's mindset changes. "I guess so." She means a whole hearted "yes," as she suddenly sees that McCordill's idea appeals to her.

"Well, then, Miss Tyler, I'll be doing you a favor. Let's commence the transformation, and by the time we're done, no modeling agency will ever snub you again."

Tyler starts to smile, as the table rotates to an upright position. Ten electrodes approach Tyler, and as needles implant themselves into Tyler's body, she begins to laugh. All at once, the electrodes fire off, charging Tyler with immense power.

Ramm and Flea have arrived at Virginia Modeling Agency. Ramm's unmarked van is parked in front of the agency's office. Flea jumps into the back, and both emerge in civilian attire. They enter the office together.

"Excuse me, folks, do you have an appointment?"

Both Flea and Ramm flash their badges.

"Detective Jill Burke, Detroit Police, this is Detective Porter. We're investigating a missing person report, and would really appreciate some help on your part."

"I believe I can help you. I'm Greg Mallo, head photographer."

Flea and Ramm turn to Mallo. "Have you seen this woman? Her name is Jeri Tyler." Flea hands Mallo the fax.

Mallo looks the fax over. "I believe I remember her. She was in here a week ago, looking for a modeling job through this agency."

"What was she told?"

"If I remember right, my supervisor told her that she was much too heavy to be a model. I didn't see any problem with her, but she evidently took the rejection really hard. She ran out of here in more tears than I've ever seen shed for a lost job."

"Do you recall seeing her after she walked out of the office?"

"I saw her out on the curb, crying. I was about to go out and offer to do some free head shots for her when a limo pulled up and picked her up. I was pretty sure that she didn't know the occupant, so I ran out to check the plate."

"Do you remember the number?"

Mallo pulls out his wallet. "I wrote the plate number on a fifty in my wallet." Mallo pulls out a fifty dollar bill and hands it to Flea. Both Flea and Ramm look over the bill.

"Does this number look familiar?"

"All of Charles Dix McCordill's limos start with the prefix CDM. They also all have digits that have two zeros preceding a single digit."

"Dix Technologies."

"Right. That's where we'll probably find Jeri."

Flea and Ramm thank Mallo and turn to leave when the front windows of the agency instantaneously shatter.

Before anyone can react, a woman flies in the office, wearing an extremely tight costume and firing energy beams from her hands.

It's Jeri Tyler.

Flea is the first to notice it.

"Jack, it's her!"

Ramm noticed it as well. Both he and Flea pile out of their civvies, revealing their costumes.

"Jeri Tyler! Your loved ones have been looking for you!"

"No, I don't think so, Detective. Jeri Tyler died the minute Virginia Modeling refused to let her model for them."

Tyler alights in front of the two superhumans.

"Charles Dix McCordill found her here, and transformed her into who I am today. And folks, just call me ... STYLE!"

Style points her hands forward toward the two superhumans and sends streams of concentrated energy toward them. Flea leaps over one beam, while Ramm holds his own against the other stream. The stream Flea leaps over wrecks the outside of a room labeled "Photo Studio A."

Flea flies over Style's head and lands behind her. Two unfortunate things happen to Flea at that moment: she finds herself without her firearm, and her other personality starts arguing with her.

"Jill Burke, you can't treat her like a normal criminal!"

"She assaulted police officers, Ferret. That makes her an instant felon!"

Burke's train of thought is interrupted as Style sends a blast hurtling toward Flea, one which she takes the full brunt of. Flea goes flying out the window, her costume burned over the lower half of her diamond-point F logo, a round burn mark on her stomach. Flea gets up, ultimate intensity in her eyes. She runs back to the unmarked car and pulls out her .57.

"Jill Burke, I told you! You can't treat her like a normal criminal!"

Burke is starting to become annoyed. Flea's face shows this annoyance. Flea jumps back into the office, tackling Style.

Loudly, Flea screams, "Now you've really pissed me off!!"

Style turns around to face Flea, although Flea is on top of her. Suddenly, Flea hears a gun click loaded behind her.

"Let her go, Detective."

Ramm starts charging the woman holding the gun behind Flea. The woman fires a round into Ramm's face: although it doesn't hurt him, it does slow him down.

"I said, let her go, Detective, or you pick up your intestines from Mr. Mallo, there."

Flea turns down to Style with a look of disgust. "Scum like you are what's making Detroit the war zone it is today."

Ultimately, however, Flea relents, picking herself up off of Style. She turns around to find herself facing a masked man with the Yin-Yan Hex on his chest.

"That's better, Detective. Now, drop the pistol."

"I don't think so!" Flea quickly points in front of her, urging Ramm to give her cover. She fires three rounds toward the man, but it is apparent that he is wearing body armor, as he runs out of the office carrying Style. When they are out of the office, Style fires two beams from her hands and sends both skyward.

Ramm kicks the wall of the office as Flea curses Style.

"What'll we tell the family?"

Flea looks up at Ramm.

"The truth, Jack. Jeri Tyler is now a dangerous fugitive superhuman called Style."

Her voice lowers, as she sheds a tear for Tyler.

"Don't expect her to come back again."

Ramm nods in understanding, going over to Flea and laying an arm around her shoulders.

FIN

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