Got Gal, Issue #003

Issue #003 – – – – – controlled by Keith Nixon – – – – – Credits 113

“Greg,” one of the flying men said, “Careful.  We don’t know what she can do.”
The man he had called Greg laughed.  “We know all the A-Type Abnormals are dead, captured or licensed.  We know all the loose B-Type’s and she doesn’t look like any report I’ve seen.  Which means she’s another dreg, like all the others.”  Got Gal flew very slowly towards the group, smiling demurely and keeping his little arms behind her back (effectively concealing the batons she was carrying, while accentuating her chest – which seemed to have a hypnotic effect on the men.)  “Your name is Greg?” she asked.  “That sounds a bit mean, calling me a Dreg.”
“Don’t let that worry you, honeypants,” he chuckled.  “That’s what we call all the C-Types.  One or two weak powers and a silly mask.  Look at it this way, at least they won’t be taking you to The Institute for dissection.  You’ll probably get some jail time and then you’ll be put to work in one of the government programs.  It’s not so bad.”
“I do need some help,” Got Gal agreed innocently, closing the space between her and the group.

While the asshole with the big mouth talked, Got Gal had been assessing the situation.  The men had pistols on their hips, though they didn’t look like conventional weapons.  Some kind of ray gun, she surmised.  They had made no attempt to draw them.  It was the whole thing with the bikini and the girly look that always caught them off guard.  They presumed she was no threat.  That suited Got Gal just fine.

“Okay, hun,” Greg said, pulling some handcuffs from his belt.  “Let’s get these on you and we can guide you gently back to base.  Unless you want to go somewhere first?” he leered.  “That sounds ever so nice,” Got Gal agreed, as she swung the baton from behind her back.  The bar hit Greg on the side of the head, sending him spinning through the air.  Before the second man had a chance to respond Got Gal delivered a kick between his legs, which would have hurt him if a normal girl had done it.  Got Gal was no normal girl.  She had once kicked a football into the air and had never seen it come back down.  She didn’t know for sure – but she may have kicked it into space.  What that power did to Greg’s friend’s testicles was probably not something to dwell on.  Suffice to say, he screamed like child, then lost consciousness and fell out of the sky.  “What’s the matter?”  Got Gal called after him.  “You don’t want to go somewhere, anymore?”

“So,” Got Gal smiled at the third man, who had managed to pull his ray gun (or whatever the hell that was) from his belt.  “You ready to play?”
“Look, lady, you better surrender or I’ll shoot!” He told her.  He looked terrified.
“What’s the matter?” Got Gal asked.  “Am I not as easy to beat as the other ‘dregs’ you’ve attacked?”
“It’s not possible,” the man said.  “We’ve got data on all the unlicensed Abnormals in the city.  The Institute know when somebody new arrives.  Where have you come from?”
“This is where I live,” Got Gal smiled as she let the turbulence jiggle her in the air (sometimes that distracted them.  Sadly, this one was just too scared to feel amorous.)
The man fired his weapon, which released a purple and green laser that flashed through the air and struck her left shoulder.  Got Gal thought two things simultaneously.  The first was: yes!  It was a ray gun.  I knew it!  The second was: Ouch.

“My turn,” said Got Gal and shot through the air at a phenomenal speed.  She could fly pretty darn fast when she wanted to.  The man clearly wasn’t expecting her to be able to move this quickly and failed to get off another shot before she crashed into him, pummelling him with the batons she was carrying.  She pulled her blows a little.  The other two men had gone down so easily she realised they didn’t have much in the way of protection against somebody as strong as she was.  She wasn’t too keen on killing anybody else (she was pretty sure the guy with the smashed cohones had probably not survived the fall.)  Although the man tried his best to fend off her blows with his arms, that only led to both his arms being broken.  She knocked him out on the sixth or seventh strike and then – aware from earlier that they couldn’t fly if they weren’t conscious – caught him around the waist to prevent the fatal plummet to his doom.

Glancing around, Got Gal couldn’t see where Greg had gotten to.  Last she’d seen he was spinning off to the South-East.  Never mind, she had one for questioning.  Maybe, when he came around, she could get some answers.  Though she had probably better do something about the broken arms and wounds.  He wouldn’t be able to answer any questions if he was dead.  She should probably also make herself scarce.  If these men were some official officers of the law they would soon be missed – and people would come looking for them.  To complicate matters somewhat, now that the battle was over and the adrenalin easing up, her shoulder was really, really hurting.