“Look Grace, you can't keep this up. You gotta ask them for shorter hours or something, girl”
“I know Amy, but you know what they're like about shorter hours and stuff. They'll be all 'Oh, so I suppose saving the world isn't as important as your free time now, eh?', and I mean what the hell can ya say to that? It's like, it's people's lives that are in danger, and here's me worried because I can't get to lectures in time. What kinda priorities is that?”

“Dammit Grace, what about saving your life? You never get enough sleep, you're always tired, you look like a wreck, you never come out partying with us, and you're so behind on your schoolwork that half the tutors are calling you a lost cause already, and it's only three weeks into our second year. How the hell are you going to cope when you have dissertations to do?”
“Be fair, it's not as if I have much choice. I'm not snubbing you guys on purpose or anything, and I try to get my schoolwork done when I can.”
“We know that Grace, but we're your friends, and we feel like we deserve a little of your time. I mean hell, did you stop to consider that we like being around you? You're a nice girl, when you're not tired to death and grumpy about Dr Meobius trying to kill you for the 15th time.”
“Oh god Amy, don't even talk about that guy. He gives me the creeps something awfohshit... I'm late for my shift again! Captain Thunder is gonna kill me.”

Grace Carpenter is a superhero. Every day she goes out in her white tights, red boots, red miniskirt, and white crop top, a little red mask carefully concealing her eyes, and she battles evil for two or three hours, before changing back into her normal clothes and desperately trying to get back to college in time for her next lecture.

Fifteen minutes later, she lands in front of the Justice TowerTM (Seattle Branch), skirt fluttering in a manner that she prays to god makes her look like Maralyn Monroe. Her top is squishing her boobs into various unpleasant shapes, her thighs are wobbling in a way that no good super heroine's thighs should wobble, and she's just noticed another ladder in her tights, when Captain Thunder comes booming out towards her, a storm of complaints bursting from his oh-so-chiseled jaw.
“Ten minutes late, ten minutes late again! That's three times this week young lady. Do you think supervillains are just going to catch themselves whilst you're wasting time getting all prettied up? Do you think Gargantus is going to say to himself 'Hey, I was gonna rob this bank, but you know what, I'll just wait until Ultra Girl gets here before I start'?”
“I'll try not to let it happen again sir, I promise.”
“You'd better not. You're not the only girl in this city with the powers of flight and super-strength. There are dozens of people queuing up for a job like yours. Now get your teen trash butt down to the corner of 10th and Jefferson. Mr Bizzaro has created some kind of time portal and velociraptors are tearing up the whole damn street. We've got casualties stacking up, and don't even talk to me about property damage. Do you have any idea what a velociraptor can do to a porsche?”
“Well... no, sir.”
“Exactly. So get the hell down there and find out already!”

Grace Carpenter is six years old. Hidden under the covers with a flashlight and one of her brother's comic books, she dreams of a world where people can fly like planes, run faster than bullets, and save the Earth from destruction again and again and again. A world where no matter how beat up they get, no matter how many problems they face, no matter how dark things look, the heroes always come out on top, and never seem to complain. For six year old Grace Carpenter, that's all she needs.

10th Street is a wreck. Jefferson street is a war zone. It's not just dinosaurs any more. It's British Colonials trading musket fire with what look to Grace for all the world like the Storm Troopers from 'Star Wars'. Laser fire tears through cars and shop fronts, and over it all booms the sound of a cannon. Someone has parked a spaceship in the middle of the street. Cavemen have taken up residence in Starbucks and seem to be discovering fire, or coffee, she can't tell which.
“Halt evildo... oh shit, forgot to turn on my damn mic... where the hell is that button... ahem... testing? Ok. Halt Evildoers! Throw Down Your Weapons And Surrender Immediately. I, Ultra-Girl, Of The Justice Force Demand It... umm... errr... oh, yeah... Your Wicked Ways Shall Not Go Unpunished! Oh, fine, ok then, don't listen, see if I care. I guess I'll just have to do this the hard way.”
She starts with the cannon. A few seconds later it's barrel is little more than a crumpled mass of twisted metal. The crew, quite sensibly, flee. She'll round them up later and have them returned to their own time-zone. Next she grabs a fallen lamp post and hurls it at the 'Battlestar Galactica' mob. It knocks a few down and scatters the rest. Good enough for now. With a little time to spare whilst the guys with the lasers reorganise, she quickly swats aside most of the colonials. Pulls her punches, just enough to put them down. Not so with the dinosaurs. They're tough enough that she can go all out. A Velociraptor flies through a tree with a satisfying crack as she hefts another by the tail and uses it to club the T-Rex across the nose. Somehow the words “Down Boy” find their way out of her mouth as the beast collapses. It's so easy to slip out those one liners. A laser bolt sears it's way across her shoulder, scorching her skin, burning off some of her costume, and rudely returning her attention to the 'Storm Troopers'. It also hurts. Really hurts. Before she started this job Grace had always figured the whole invulnerable skin thing was a hoot. Turned out bullets and stuff still sting, a lot. She's fast though, and before any of them can get off another shot she's right in their midst, throwing punches left right and centre. It's almost too easy. One guy she slams into a car, sending glass flying everywhere. That feels good. Feels good when their armour cracks under her super powered punches. They go down quickly, or else run. They run rather face down the goddess that has descended from heaven to cast these invaders out of her realm, her city. It's times like this she remembers just why she doesn't quit. Lectures, parties, school work, none of it really compares to the feeling of being a goddess in lycra, of being unstoppable, the feeling of a thousand mortal eyes staring up at her, begging for salvation that only she can give.
“So I see you made short work of the rabble. Ah well. They were little more than a distraction to lure you here my dear”
Bizarro stands just metres away, his lime green suit and cloak looking a little tattered. She's seen him before, fought him before, but something is different about him this time. His long hair hangs in thick greasy clumps. His normally cold grey eyes are wild and bloodshot. He's not comical. Not this time. Just scary.
“Oh... urm...Mr Bizarro, I Presume? You May Play With Time, But Now The Time Has Come For Your Wicked Scheme To End.”
“How cute. Did you read that off a cue card darling?”
“Well look, It's not like any of this makes much sense anyway. If you can make time portals why didn't you just go back in time and help Hitler win the war or something? I mean colonial soldiers? They're not really all that good are they? And dinosaurs hardly make very reliable pets. Hell, it's not like you could have done this to lure 'me' here anyway, I only just started my shift 10 minutes ago.”
“And you imagine that a man with power over time couldn't predict when you would arrive at work today? How deliciously appropriate for the costumed blonde to be so stupid. Maybe that's why only the villains ever get called 'Doctor'.”
“Can we just skip to part where I punch you? Please?”
He makes no answer, merely licks his lips. Then he throws up his hand as a strange light glimmers from his palm for the briefest of moments... and Grace Carpenter burns. Fire surges across her body, seeping into her skin, into her thoughts. Blue fire, green fire, spectral, a ghost of fire.

Grace Carpenter is 16. She's sitting in the waiting room at Justice Towers, with 5 minutes to go before her interview. The clock on the wall hammers out each second in heavy pulses of light, each interchanging bar slamming into the back of her skull. She fidgets. She fumbles. She checks through her purse, alternately picking up and examining each item in turn. Bubblegum pink lipstick. Hairbrush. Cigarettes (half empty packet, no smoking allowed in here). Lighter (plastic, disposable). Chewing gum (sugar free). Bric-a-brac. Nick nacks. Assorted odds and ends. It all becomes a blur. She reads a magazine, but doesn't have any idea what it's about. She looks up, startled, to see a stunningly good looking man in a dazzling blue costume with a sky blue cape swirling around him. Hand outstretched, brilliant smile.
“Hi, I'm Captain Thunder, but please call me John.”
“Uh, hi, umm, John, I'm, errr, Grace, Grace Carpenter”
“Delighted to meet you Grace. Please, step into my office. Can we get you a drink?”
“Pleased to meet you too sir, uh John, uh... I'd, um, love a coffee, thanks.”

Grace Carpenter is falling, the ground is like a sledgehammer, Bizarro's laughter like nails on a blackboard. Her mind reels, she's dizzy, she's throwing up. The fire is still there, inside her skin, inside her head. She's weak, so weak, like a frightened child. She can't run, can't fly, can't even feel her legs. Just his hands, his sweaty, greasy hands around her wrists. Somewhere a wounded Velociraptor moans. Her costume tears. His hot foetid breath, like the stink of rotten eggs, on her face, on her neck. His swollen lips, like two fat slugs, and she's not strong enough to stop him.
“Watch you a lot. Watch you from my cell sometimes, up there, flying, skirt rippling. Love your costume. Love the way it fits you so tight. So tight. Love the shape of your body. Love the way you're always in control. You're like a goddess, you know that? Like Aphrodite or some shit. Always wanted to fuck a goddess. Always wanted to make you mine.”

Grace Carpenter is 15. Her father is telling her she can't go out tonight with Ian. She's hurt, and she's crying, and she wants to know how the hell he plans to stop her when she can just fly out the window.
“Honey, we're your parents. We can't force you to do anything, but you gotta trust us when we say this is for your own good.”
“My own good? Locking me up in a goddamn tower is for my own good?”
“Now be fair Grace, we're just looking out for you. We know you like this guy, but how you can be sure he's not going to take it too far?”
“Because I can rip the door off his fucking car if he does!”
“I know that honey, and to tell you the truth it really scares me, but I just don't want you to end up doing something you'll regret later. These kind of mistakes never go away.”
“I... scare you?”
“Well... yeah. You do, Grace. You're strong enough to tear the roof off this whole house. When I was a kid my daddy never had to explain, he was bigger and stronger, and he could make me stay in my room. And when I got older and looked back, I saw that he was right, that he kept me out of a lot of trouble. But I can't do that with you Grace, and it's got me all confused. All I can do is ask you to trust me. We've been there Grace, your mom and I, we've both been teenagers, and we know how you feel. But please, do this for us. Let us be right for once.”
A rush of air, the slamming of a door, and silhouette disappearing on the skyline as mother and father hold each other, tears running down their faces.

Blood splatters across Grace Carpenter's face, across her ripped white costume, as Bizarro's jaw crumples. A dainty black clad foot wheels round and catches him again, in the groin, sends him reeling. Presses down, hard, something bursts. Blood all over the pavement and he's screaming. Grace looks up, sees nothing, opens her eyes and tries again. Girl in black catsuit, perky little black and white ears perched neatly on her head, tail swaying behind her. Katherine Black, The Black Cat. The luckiest girl in the world. It's her power. Great boyfriend, rich parents, great figure, perfect name. Grace knows she should be grateful, but in that moment all she can do is glare at that perfect belly and that perfect ass, and think of her own detestable puppy fat.
“You ok girl?”
“Yeah, yeah, I'm... I'm alright. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Here, let me help you up. God that guy is a sicko.”
“Did you really... is he... ?”
“He'll live, sadly, but I think I put a curb on that libido of his.”
“Oh God... that's disgusting”
“You don't think he deserved it?!”
“Of course he fucking deserved it! He's an animal... I just... just can't look at it, that's all.”
“Don't worry babe. You need some rest is all. You're gonna be ok. Look, come here. Hey, I've got a tissue somewhere. Come on, clean yourself up. Get back to the Tower and tell Cap you got it all sorted, alright? I won't mention none of this.”
“Ok. Thanks again.”
“Yeah. Lucky thing I was passing by, eh?”
“Yeah. Lucky me.”

Grace Carpenter is 13. It's all over the TV. The rays, the rays are going to change the world. People suddenly getting stronger, faster, tougher. People with laser vision and the power to fly. The whole world watching as the comic book stories finally start to come true. They're saying it's from Mars. They're saying that Martians did this. They're saying they don't know why. Grace isn't listening. She's on the phone to Amy, chatting about boys, and how that bitch Katherine Black spent the whole day bragging about how disgustingly rich she was going to be now that her parents had won the lottery. She's dreaming of Elijah Wood whilst Amy gives a sympathetic sigh, when suddenly she's disconnected. She stares at the shattered pieces of the plastic handset, wires caught between her delicate fingers, and all she can think to do is scream.

“Captain? I'm all done with the Bizarro thing. Cops carted him off, I got all the paperwork signed and stuff. Um... is that ok?”
“Grace, what the hell happened to your uniform?”
“Well, uh, he used some kind of energy beam thingy, and it, uh...”
“Dammit, those things are expensive young lady. That's going to be coming out of your pay. Anyway, we don't have time for this, I've been sending out an all points alert for the last half hour. Didn't you get the message?!”
“Message... uh no. I guess my communicator must've got busted up in the fight.”
“Oh hell... you're gonna be paying for that too missy. Dammit. Look, it's Martians. Millions of them. They're coming down all over the world and we've got to scramble every super to stop them. And here was me thinking this would be a quiet shift. Anyway, you're going to report to The Incredible Kid on top of the Space Needle, he's organising strike teams there. Get your ass over there as fast as you can.”
“You know what, fuck that. I fucking quit.”
“Oh no you fucking don't. We're looking a full scale God damned alien invasion here, you can't fucking quit now.”
“Says you. Find some other idiot blonde to do it.”
“Grace, this is an emergency!”
His closing cries are cut short by a slamming door as Grace Carpenter soars out into the sky, and heads for home. Later that night she turns on the TV and half listens, as she cooks a microwave meal and attempts some kind of repair to her nails. Ignored, the anchorman flusters and blusters his way through the breaking story. As UFO's touch down in Manhattan, Chicago, and Atlanta, disgorging thousands of small bug eyed aliens armed with deadly blaster rays, Grace takes another mouthful of “Kraft” macaroni & cheese, picks up the remote and changes the channel.