WARNING: This story contains mature themes, including rape, violence and abuse of substances and other themes that may not be suitable for readers under the age of 18.
Amy patrolled through the city streets, her usual route taking her past the usual crowd. The skimpy black shorts hugged her ass cheeks like a second skin, emphasizing the massive, juicy globes that swayed and bounced with each step. People stopped in their tracks to stare, jaws dropping open as their eyes raked over her voluptuous figure.
Amy Blake, known as Tornadoe and the youngest super in history. An A-Rank psychic and pretty fucking popular for her looks.
A small crowd began to gather around her, they called out to her. "T- Tornadoe? Holy shit!" one shouted, his eyes roaming as they fixated on her heaving cleavage barely contained by the black halter top.
Amy rolled her green eyes in mild irritation as she spotted a man leering at her breasts. "Ugh, gross," she muttered under her breath, her plump lips curling in disgust. She crossed her arms over her ample chest, inadvertently pushing her massive tits up even higher.
The same man grabbed at Amy's shorts, trying to cop a feel of her plumper ass cheek. But before he could, he felt himself being slammed to the sidewalk. The air left his lungs in a whoosh as a heavy foot pressed into his face, pinning him down.
"Tornadoe! Today is the day of your reckoning, prepare for Brutalizer!" the owner of the boot shouted, desperately grabbing at his shorts to adjust the massive bulge that strained against the fabric.
Amy turned to face the man, her green eyes narrowing as she studied him for a moment. Then, with a tilt of her cute head, she spoke in an almost bored tone. "Uh, no. Don't know you." It was clear she couldn't care less about this idiot.
"W-what?! You don't remember Brutalizer?" He shouted out confused, pausing a moment. "What? R- Really? You don't remember me? I'm kinda like, a big time villain... HEY! YOU'RE TOTALLY MAKING FUN OF ME!"
The man flopped onto his back with exaggerated dramatics, kicking his feet like a child throwing a tantrum while still clutching his bulge through his pants.
"Fuck! SHIT! Come on! Do I need to remind you?!" He pulled out a sleek phone and swiped furiously before holding it up. An old video played, showing Amy back when she was still just a teenager stopping some bank robbers. The footage showed Brutalizer being easily flung into a wall by Amy while she stood there unimpressed.
"See?! That was our first encounter!"
Amy shrugged, her massive tits jiggling as she plugged her ears with her fingers in a cutesy gesture. "Nope, nah uh. No idea who you are dude, just walk away," she chirped, already turning to leave.
But before she could walk off, Brutalizer tore off a chunk of concrete from the wall with his brawny arms and hurled it at her. The debris shot through the air, aimed straight for her face.
She sighed, a hand coming to her plump lips as she focused her telekinetic power. The wall piece screeched to a halt in the air, frozen in place. With a flick of her wrist, Tornadoe flung the debris off to the side, sending it crashing into a nearby dumpster.
Brutalizer smirked, feeling cocky. "Finally taking me seriously? After I beat you, I'll consider making you one of my wives!" He laughed heartily, his voice booming through the street.
Two seconds later, he found himself slammed into bricks. Amy stood with one hand resting on her wide hips. "Wives? Was he high? Why do I always get the creeps," she muttered, rolling her green eyes before flipping her pigtails over one shoulder with a casual flick of black strands.
Just as she was about to fly off, her phone vibrated with a notification from her bank. Apparently the commissioner saw what had happened, and the thug she just thrashed was an escaped convict.
Amy couldn't contain her excitement, bouncing up and down where she stood. "Ten grand for that idiot? Fuck, the commissioner is SO generous!" she squealed, hugging her phone close to her ample chest. Her massive tits jiggled and bounced with each enthusiastic hop.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to calm down. "Hmm, I think I'll treat myself to that fancy Chinese spot today. I've earned it!" she declared, already mentally salivating over the idea of tender lo mein slipping between her pouty lips.
...meanwhile, at a bar a dozen miles away, a crowd huddled together around a small screen usually reserved sports highlights and game scores.
A man slammed his hands on the counter. "Fuck, Justice is dead?" he shouted, causing a loud commotion.
The bartender looked at the screen with sweat dripping off his chin, clearing his throat. "Not dead, missing. Missing!" A regular snapped back, "don't jinx us, you dumb fuck! He's just missing, he'll be back soon!"
If Justice is missing... it means that... "If Justice is gone, then New York's the last place left without an S-Rank hero!"
"Are you fucking kidding me? Doesn't that mean this goddamn place is gonna be crawling with wannabe villains!"