Episode Seven - ' See Elenor Play '

Foxglove hit the floor and skidded several inches on her face from the impact of Elenor's fist. Argent was back in town and she wasn't about to put up with the new batch of second rate super villains that had emerged since Christmas.

"That's the problem with you super villains,” said Elenor as she regarded the other costumed criminal who stood by the remains of the security door that had just been torn off its hinges. “You all think that having a unique super power means you don't have to learn how to fight. For all I know Foxglove might have the power to microwave me from the inside out, but she never got the chance to try." Over by the bank counter, Foxglove’s partner grabbed a hostage and pointed a venom dart in his face.

"You're Argent!" exclaimed Candy Man. Every villain in London knew Argent by reputation.

Elenor grabbed Foxglove by her long brown hair and began to beat her face against the floor until she blubbered, "I surrender!" Only then did she drop Foxglove and let her body fall limp against the tiled floor. "What's your super power then?" Elenor asked Candy Man. He wore black stretch leggings and a dark red tunic and a three quarters face mask. The bank foyer was still full of terrified customers who crouched on the floor, and shielded their heads, afraid that any minute now they might be shot dead.

"Venom darts. You want some?" He pointed his fist in Elenor's direction. A weapon of some sort was bio-moulded into the back of his hand.

"Couldn't you just buy a gun?"

"What?"

"Couldn't you just buy a gun? Like, a big one? Why have a venom dart machine built into your body when you could just carry a Heckler & Koch MP-99?”

"I wouldn't be a super villain if I just carried a gun!" Candy Man tightened his grip on the young hostage and pointed his venom launcher at the side of his face.

"It's always image, isn't it? And yes, I'm Argent. I'm back." Elenor was sporting her new winter costume. The black mini-dress was all well and good during the warm summer months but today it was minus two below freezing and catching a cold wasn’t high on her agenda. The new winter costume consisted of a one piece black leather trouser suit with a long zip down the front. Elenor had unzipped it to the waist to reveal a mustard yellow lycra t-shirt underneath. It was recognisably the same colour scheme as before, plus it was warm. She had added a big belt buckle with the words Argent inscribed on it in pop art lettering, and of course she still wore her usual domino mask and a black ribbon around her throat to disguise the small metal mark of her implant.

“Keep back or I’ll shoot the hostage,” said Candy Man. “I’m walking out of here with my bag full of money. Don’t give me an excuse to kill people!”

“Oh, don’t be so stupid. You know I’m going to hurt you if you insist on waving that fist around.”

“Hah! Big words Argent! But I don’t see any birds around here!”

“What?” Elenor paused for a moment.

“Any birds. That’s your power, right? You can telepathically command flocks of birds.”

“Where do you people hear these sorts of things?”

“You don’t telepathically command flocks of birds?” Candy Man felt his victim struggle, so he clamped his arm around his throat. He waved the venom dart bio-weapon towards Elenor as a warning.

“No.”

“Then what do you do?”

Elenor screamed in his direction. The sonic pulse hit both men simultaneously. Bad news for the hostage, but better than having your head blown off with an explosive venom dart. Elenor walked over to where Candy Man was throwing up on the floor. She grabbed his venom dart arm and calmly broke it at the elbow.

“FUCKKKK!” he screamed.

“I warned you. But you didn’t listen.” Now she helped the hostage up. Like Candy Man he was in the process of being sick. “I’m sorry about that. The nausea should pass in half an hour or so. I tried to keep the pulse as low level as I could.”

The man dropped back to his knees and threw up again. Elenor could feel in her throat that she had expended the last of the power stored in her sonic implant again. The biggest problem with living rough in a squat was finding somewhere with an electric power point from which she could recharge her sonic weapon. She still thought of the small socket in her throat as a terrible disfigurement and was paranoid about people seeing it. Since she had taken refuge in Camden, Elenor had only had the opportunity to recharge the device in private after Christmas when she had stayed over with Alyson for one night. Alyson had gone out for a drink with Anya, leaving Elenor enough time to plug herself into the mains for a few hours. She had no idea how long it would be before she had the chance to do that again.

Elsewhere in the bank there was a sudden round of applause as the remaining customers congratulated their local heroine in the only way they knew how.

“Thank you,” said Elenor. “Thank you very much.”

Newsnight with Yvonne Ellis (BBC2, 10.30 pm)

As speculation is rife that England is staggering towards a likely general election in May next year, political pundits are beginning to ask the question, can the Conservative party possibly reverse the crushing defeats of the last two elections? If newspaper headlines this week are anything to go by it seems we have entered the first days of the phoney war.

On Tuesday the Times splashed details of the Tory's new Crime bill across the front page. Aleister Reed, the Leader of the Opposition was quick to capitalise on the leak and delivered a rousing back to basics hard line attack on what he called "wishy washy liberalism that has more in common with an ostrich burying its head in the sand, than political theory suitable for the twenty second century." Far from attempting to regain the middle ground it appears that Aleister Reed is leading his party even further to the right in a move that defies explanation.

The Guardian accused the Conservatives of having a death wish - preferring to satisfy the demands of their rapidly ageing blue rinse heartlands than make a realistic bid for national power. But all political analysts do agree that the battle ground in England today is a very different place than just four years ago when Tony Deighton's triumphalist party managed to maintain its 180 seat majority in the commons.

But what are the implications of the crime bill if the Conservatives exceeded their wildest dreams and managed to overthrow one of the biggest majorities in English history? Aleister Reed is hardly concerned with mincing his words.

"I talk to people in the street - the common, decent, hard working men of England, and they tell me the same thing time after time. This Government - this lack lustre, insipid and spineless government isn't capable of tackling crime. The law of the land it seems favours the criminal over the victim. Hardly a day goes by without news of murderers, rapists and thieves being given conditional sentences; time off for good behaviour and community service. Community service? A man rapes a young woman, and this government's answer is to make him sweep the road? I don't think so! I don't want to see rapists and murderers sweeping my road! I don't want to see them anywhere but behind bars! And the people of England ask me why? Why aren't these men in jail? Why are they afforded more rights than their victims? Why? Why? Oh, I'll tell you why. Because of cost. The latest government report quite clearly states the cost to the tax payer for incarcerating a criminal. £3,000 a week. £3,000 a week! We may as well book them into the Hilton hotel! It would be cheaper! But when we look at the current conditions in our prisons we would probably be accused of cruelty if we did move them into the Hilton. These aren't prisons! They're holiday camps! We… are molly coddling our criminals. This is what happens when liberals - men and women who live in comfortable, safe, green belt areas, are responsible for governing the safety of a country. Tony Deighton doesn't see crime. He doesn't live in fear of his house being broken into and vandalised. He doesn't live in an area where his daughter is afraid to walk down the road! These liberals have no idea of the reality on the streets of England today."

Aleister Reed's rhetoric offers right wing ideals for the common man and, if recent Guardian polls are anything to go by, we are seeing the first signs of a shift in public opinion.

"A Conservative government would put more criminals into jail, and reduce the cost to the tax payer. It's simple economics - jails cost too much to maintain in England, so we would look at the possibility of relocating many of our repeat offenders to jails in other parts of the world. In Thailand it only costs £56 a week to keep a prisoner. In the Sudan it costs as little as £33. In designing a prison policy we should be concerned first and foremost with locking away repeat offenders at the cheapest price to the tax payer. If you're a rapist or a murderer you can wave goodbye to the soft molly coddling you've been receiving in an English jail. You can look forward instead to fifteen years in a Bangkok prison, and ladies and gentlemen of the press, if that isn't a deterrent I don't know what is."

Newsnight spoke to Mr Reed earlier today and asked whether he is seriously proposing to ship English criminals to third world prisons.

"Of course. We outsource many other contracts to the most economical bidder - why not the prison service? I don't believe in giving criminals an easy time. The English tax payer doesn't want to see a criminal having an easy time. If we can lock away people who are a menace to society at a cost that is considerably cheaper to the tax payer, the Conservative party will take that opportunity aboard."

But prison conditions in some of these countries breach numerous Human Rights conventions.

"I am not interested in the rights of the criminal - only in the rights of the victim. People are sick to death of liberal values. They have seen a crippled economy, massive unemployment and crime going unpunished. It's time for a change. It's time to realise that these outmoded concepts only benefit the cancerous elements in society."

Alan Maidstone, the Home Secretary, mocked Mr Reed's comments during a police conference in Manchester.

"Mr Reed would return us to the Dark Ages if he saw a tax cut in it. The Conservatives have to realise that we are part of a world government, and this kind of arrogant blustering will only make us the laughing stock in the UN."

But now back to tonight's lead story. Argent, London's favourite superhero, has a new costume! To discuss the cultural and social significance of her new design we have invited a panel of experts into our studio tonight. Professor William Harris of Oxford University is the author of Icons - how society chooses its heroes. Julie Curtis is a newspaper columnist and a leading figure in the Lesbian and Gay Alliance who recently embraced Argent as a symbol of their movement. Jennifer Cordell was a porn film star who rose to fame when she became the costumed super heroine, Domino, and joined the English super group, The League of English Gentlemen, towards the end of their career. Indie-kid author, Martin Hamish, is the current bad boy of post modern literature and the recent best selling writer of Love Amongst the Crows. Finally, Caroline Hearst is the current editor of The Erotic Review.

Can we begin by discussing what Argent represents to each of you? Jennifer - you were a superhero. Do you ever get nostalgic for the lifestyle when you see Argent on TV?

(Laughs) "No, not at all. As I explained in my auto-biography - Ever had the feeling you've been cheated? - £9.99, and published by Minerva - I have to get the plug in - my so called superhero career was really a con. A career in porn is pretty short lived. I had to think seriously about what I was going to do later in life. The superhero business seemed a perfect vehicle for self publicity and I seized it with both hands. Most of what I did was down to special effects and cheating. That fight with the Terrier in Hyde Park? We hired him especially. But this new girl - she seems quite serious about the crime fighting. She's a lot more innocent than I ever was. I'm afraid to say she's going to get herself killed pretty soon unless she takes more care. I don’t think she understands what she’s doing."

You were a member of the League of English Gentlemen, and you met some of the American heroes. Why do you think they do this? What's the motivation for dressing up in tights and fighting crime?

"I think most of the time they're just really messed up people who can't cope with reality. Argent - she's obviously an exhibitionist. As for the others, well, where do you want me to begin? Drummond – I think he really believes in what he does. He really takes it seriously. He's got these old fashioned values and I have to say he works really, really, hard. I never understood what made Charming Billy tick. He always claimed to have been given his powers by the ghost of Aubrey Beardsley in a cave near Glastonbury. Go figure that one out for yourself. The Mole and Atom Man were seriously fucked up in different ways. Mr Punch was the only sane one in the group. I had no idea why he did it actually. He never gave the impression of being very involved or interested in anything. He was really polite to people though. You don’t see many polite super heroes."

Argent seems to have inspired a lot of people. In terms of pop cultural icons how does she rate?

"Well, women want to be her and men want to sleep with her. I think that's the expression the London Illustrated Times used? I think it's because she's not like her counterparts. She's not some dark avenging angel with Kevlar body armour, guns and a trace of dribble on her lips. There's something old fashioned about her, and I think people like that. Nostalgia is big business these days. She's also mysterious. She's never given an interview and no one knows too much about her. And yet at the same time there’s a sense of something tragic about her life."

Julie - you have an opinion on that, don't you?

"Well she's obviously gay and wrestling with her guilt because she can't come to terms with the truth that she wants to sleep with women. She wants to eat bush and the sooner she admits it to herself the happier she’ll be. You’re gay, Argent! Get over it!"

Borders book shop

Elenor approached the clerk at the checkout and deposited her stack of books on the counter. The young, camp looking man scanned each one through the bar code machine and as he did so he read out each title aloud. "Women who love and the men who don't love enough." Ping. "The Power of a Woman." Ping. "Revelation - what your best friend really thinks about you." Ping. "Single and confident – the natural path to healing." Ping. "ooh… looks like someone didn't have a fun Christmas this year then…" The clerk packaged the books in a plastic Borders carrier bag. "That's twenty eight pounds and ninety six pence please."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Twenty eight pounds and…"

"No - what do you mean someone didn't have a fun Christmas this year?"

"Just an observation based on your choice of books from the self help section, my love. No need to get your tights into a twist."

Elenor looked behind her. There was a queue of three shoppers each clutching their own purchases. They seemed curious now with her choice of books. "I came here to buy some books, not to hear a snotty book clerk comment on my choices!"

An old lady in the queue behind Elenor tapped her on her shoulder. "Has your boyfriend left you then, dear? You just can't trust men these days, can you? They're just not worth it."

"You're single then?" said a twenty something student with a floppy fringe and a long knitted scarf, who stood next in line behind the old woman. This was an opportunity not to be missed.

"I was just making conversation. Just trying to be friendly," said the clerk, defensively.

"Well I don't want my book choices broadcast across the store! And I especially don't want you making assumptions about my life!"

"Look, this might not be the best time, but I'm never likely to see you again, " said the student. "Would you like to join me for a drink?"

"Sod off!" Elenor snatched up her bag of books and rummaged in her pocket for some money. She deposited six five pound notes on the counter and waited for her change.

Cathedral Prime

It was dark now. Joseph Cromwell rose from the sofa in his basement residence and reached for his long great coat. Night time brought the monsters out of hiding - the dragons with their fiery breath and muscles of steel. Joseph checked his weapons and loaded the guns. Time to earn more red nails for the black pillar in the centre of the room. Time to shed more blood. Time to kill more dragons. More Furies would die tonight. In the end Joseph Cromwell would take down every last one of them. He had done it before, though never against such a large number in such a small community. For all their vaunted super powers, the Furies were relatively easy to kill. Few of them knew how to fight. Few of them understood tactics. Together they possessed weight of numbers, but individually they could be taken out, given the element of surprise. The only real danger was letting them dictate the time and place for the battles. Many fights were won by the first blow. Last night Joseph had found two of the Furies drinking in a café. The advantage was his - as always it was easy to spot them. Joseph had entered the café with his shotgun under his coat. A single blast at close range had incapacitated them long enough for the machete to come out of its leg holster. Two more red nails for the black pillar. Two more black souls sent screaming into the abyss. But it was hard work; tiring work. Joseph slept during the day when other people loved and laughed and played. He hunted at night, always alone, and always anonymously. All he knew in life was death and how to deliver it. Bullets, blood and bile. Tonight he would kill. Tomorrow he would kill. He would wade in blood and kill as often as he had to. And one day he too would die, cut down by his enemies. One slip, one error of judgement was all it would take. He couldn't afford a single mistake - not against people with super speed and super strength. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of any thoughts that might prove to be a distraction. He had to stay focussed on death - nothing but death. He had to be alert at all times because one day they would come for him. No time to eat, no time to sleep. Live by the gun; die by the gun; be a good soldier. No easy deaths for the good soldier.

Joseph sniffed the cold winter air as he walked down the streets of Camden, his weapons discretely hidden from view. Passers by saw only a hard looking black man with long braided hair and round glasses. A few perhaps sensed that this wasn't a man to mess with, but for the most part people just hurried on their way, oblivious to the warrior walking in their midst.

There. He clicked a switch in his pocket that changed the setting of his glasses. A group of women standing by an all night convenience store, laughing and joking. The one in the middle - the one with the bright red hair. Not human. Not one of the flock. A monster. A Fury. The girl sensed something unusual. She glanced round and saw the grim faced black man approach and she tensed, certain that something was wrong, but he passed by, seemingly oblivious to her and, as she watched, he paused to gaze into a shop window. As she turned back to the two younger girls, Joseph drew the shotgun from underneath his coat and, without breaking stride, pointed it at the woman with the fiery red hair. He fired the first shot and blew a large hole through her back. She fell against the store window which shattered inwards from the blast. Shotgun pellets sprayed the two human girls, wounding them in their arms and legs. The woman with the red hair was scrabbling along the floor, still alive despite a close range shotgun blast, clawing her way forward with a hole in her back the size of a baked bean can. Joseph fired the second of his three shots (English pump action shotguns, unlike their American counterparts, had to be modified to hold no more than three shells) at point blank range and sprayed more of her guts along the pavement. He reloaded the gun calmly as he walked closer. He didn't concern himself with the screams around him. No one would attempt to interfere in Camden. He closed the breech shut and pointed the tip of the gun a few inches from the girl's head. Without saying a word he fired a third time and watched her head split open like a melon. Another red nail. Another dead Fury. Joseph slipped silently into the shadows and made himself scarce.

The Olympus gym, Camden, London

Dressed in black track suit bottoms and a white vest, her hair tied back with a black ribbon tied in a bow, Elenor Haines was kicking and punching the shit out of a heavy punch bag. It was cold in the gym. Gyms in Camden didn't bother with luxuries like heating, or indeed carpets. Elenor's bare feet danced on a grey rubber mat as she shadow boxed and swung kicks at the bag that hung suspended by a chain from the ceiling. Her shoulder was still stiff from where she'd dislocated it in December, but her speed and reflexes remained good. Sweat pricked her skin as she dodged imaginary blows and delivered a series of quick chi punches to the heavy plastic sack. One to the face, one to the gut and a low heel kick to an imaginary shin.

The windows inside the gym were frosted over from the cold. Besides Elenor, there were a few powerfully built men in the gym pushing weights and grunting. Three of the men were black and the other one was white. No one spoke much, and there was no happy dance music playing through custom built speakers. This was a serious spit and sawdust gym for people serious about building muscle and learning to fight. Elenor already knew how to fight, but lately she was beginning to feel she needed an extra edge.

She smacked the bag as hard as she could, over and over again. There was no getting away from the fact that Anya was stronger than her. And faster. Elenor continued to smack the bag, switching into that tunnel vision that fighters often had. Focus - concentrate on the eyes - anticipate every move. It stung Elenor that after a lifetime of training in kick boxing that Alyson had surpassed her in fighting ability in a matter of weeks. Something bitter boiled deep down in her gut. Alyson had never trained in her life, yet now she was better than Elenor in every way. Elenor's pony tail flapped around her neck as she pounded her knuckles raw against the bag.

"Go easy on the bag," said Kane. He was black and built like a tank compared to Elenor's slim little figure. "If you're going to train that long you should wrap bandages around your hands first."

Elenor paused, and breathed heavily, gasping oxygen into her lungs. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her legs and shook her head, sweat dripping from her forhead. "I can manage." She looked at her hands. The knuckles of each fist were sore and scraped raw.

"You've got a lot of aggression for a little girl."

"That I have." Elenor reached for her towel.

"Don't get no girls here usually."

"This place is cheap. I don't have much money." Elenor picked up a plastic squeezy bottle of water and squirted it into her mouth.

"Boyfriend?" Kane grinned, showing a row of clean white teeth set against his black gums.

"Don't do boyfriends."

Kane nodded. "No harm in asking."

"No." Elenor smiled. "No harm at all." She walked off towards the changing rooms, but paused halfway when she saw Anya leaning against the far wall. Elenor had no idea how long she'd been there.

"Good work out." Anya detached herself from the wall and sauntered across the floor. Her hips swayed enticingly with each step. "Mind if I try?" Anya faced the bag and suddenly punched it hard. The bag flew ninety degrees up and slammed against the ceiling, bringing down a shower of plaster. The men in the gym stopped and stared. Some of the stitching in the bag had come loose and the padding inside was spilling out onto the floor.

"You need a bigger bag," she said to no one in particular.

"What do you want?" Elenor dried herself with the towel.

"Ease up, Ell, you’re shaking. Alyson thought you might like to join us for a drink, that’s all. She's waiting outside."

A Camden grocery store – a few hours later

"Allo Billy, my son. It's that time of the week again." The men looked hard. They wore neat trousers, polo necked shirts and camel hair coats. Their hair was cropped very short, whether they were balding or not. All three of them carried baseball bats but there was no sense that the bats were supposed to be a threat of any kind.

"Cold morning, Dan. How's the missus?" asked the store owner.

"Not bad. Took 'er out to the pictures last night. One of those weepie flicks that girls love." He noticed Elenor and winked. Elenor had called in to buy a milk shake and some biscuits. "Ello there, missy." Elenor slurped her milk shake and regarded the men suspiciously. She'd seen enough TV to know these men looked like common London gangsters.

Billy reached under the counter and slapped a brown envelope on the surface. He slit it open with a knife and counted out twelve ten pound notes and six fivers. "One hundred and fifty quid, right Danny?"

"Tha's right me son, tha's right." Danny leaned forward, the baseball bat slung casually over one shoulder, and pocketed the money. One of his associates wrote out a receipt and stamped it.

"Anyone been giving you any trouble today, Danny?" asked the shop owner in his continuing attempt to make friends with the gangsters.

"There's been a couple of silly cunts who run that newsagent down the road. Had to give them a bit of a slap." It was quite clear what ‘a bit of a slap’ meant in Danny’s world.

Elenor raised her eyes as she finished her drink.

"There's always one, eh Danny? You don't get no trouble here though."

"Tha's cuz ye're dead sensible, Billy boy. No lumps for Billy boy, eh Mickey?" Danny punched his bald friend playfully in the arm.

"He's a good lad," replied Mickey.

"Excuse me." Elenor suddenly appeared next to Danny. "Are you extorting protection money from this man?"

All four men turned and stared at the pretty twenty something girl in the black combat pants and the long military great coat.

"What's it to you, luv?"

"I think you should give him his money back! Small businesses find it very difficult to compete with chain stores and supermarkets. They can’t afford to pay protection money!" Elenor placed her hands on her hips. Danny, Mickey, and even Billy laughed. The fourth man, Dodo, stood by the doorway, his hand ready to turn the ‘open’ sign round to read ‘closed’. He watched the scene with an expressionless face.

"Friend of yers, Billy boy?” asked Danny.

"She’s a customer. Never seen her before in my life. Just came in to buy a milkshake."

Elenor turned to him. "You don't have to pay these men protection money, you know."

"Afraid he does, luv. Otherwise someone turns up late at night and pours petrol through his letter box. Now, why don't you piss off before we ferget ye're a lady?" Danny poked Elenor’s breasts and had a good laugh. He turned back towards the shop owner. “Yer gets all sorts round here, Billy.”

Elenor stared down at her breasts where Danny had poked them. She reached out her hand, picked up a glass bottle of Lucozade and smashed it over his head while his back was turned. As Danny fell, Elenor caught his baseball bat in both hands, turned quickly and smacked it with full force into Mickey’s face. Both men collapsed in a heap one after the other. The big hulking giant of a man at the door snapped to attention and charged into the room. Elenor caught him in the gut with the tip of the bat and then smacked it up under his chin. She span round, ducking low as the giant stumbled and, with her back swing smacked him a second time in the teeth. He nearly took the door off its hinges as he fell back out onto the street. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

"Here's your money back," said Elenor proudly as she returned the one hundred and fifty pounds in used notes.

"Are you crazy? Keep that money away from me!" Billy waved his hands in horror.

"It's your money - these men stole it. I'm returning it to you." Elenor tried to stuff the bundle of notes into Billy's hand but he continued to push it away.

"I'm not taking those notes!"

"They're yours! Take your money!" Elenor was getting angry.

"You've just beaten up three of Walker’s men! And now you're forcing his money on me! Are you trying to get me killed?"

"It's not his money, it's yours!"

"I don't want it!" Billy pushed Elenor away.

"Take the money!" Elenor pushed him back and thrust the money into his shirt. Billy simply pulled it out and threw it back in Elenor's face.

"No! I won't! He pushed Elenor away again.

"Stop pushing me!" Now Elenor slapped him in the face. “Pick up your money!"

"No!"

Elenor slapped him again. "Pick up your money!"

"I don't want it!" There were tears in his eyes.

Elenor grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt. "You're going to pick up your money!"

"You’re hurting me! I'm going to call the police!"

"What? You'd call the police because I'm giving you your money back, but you won't call the police when three men try to extort you?"

"That's right…"

Elenor let go of him and bent down to scoop up the notes as they fluttered in the draught that blew through the shop door. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're trying to get me fucking killed, that's what you're doing! Mr Walker will burn my shop down if he sees me holding onto that protection money." He reached for the phone.

"You're calling the police?"

"No - I'm calling Mr Walker’s people and I'm going to tell him that this had nothing to do with me, before someone tells him I'm refusing to pay my weekly dues. Hopefully he'll beat the crap out of you and leave me alone."

Elenor stormed out of the shop, furious. It wasn't until she'd stepped out onto the pavement that she realised she still had the crumpled notes in her hand. She stuffed them into her deep coat pocket and looked up and down the street. An old E-type Jag was parked nearby on double yellow lines. Local traffic wardens knew better than to slap a parking ticket on one of Mr Walker’s motors. Elenor picked up a baseball bat close to the fingers of the prone Dodo. She walked up to the shining, beautifully waxed car and smashed in each of the windows in turn. Then she chucked the baseball bat onto the front seat. Dodo rose painfully behind her, his front teeth missing, and his gums covered in blood.

Well, they're not wearing costumes, thought Elenor, but they're definitely villains.

"Where's this Mr Walker?" She gazed down at Dodo.

"Fahk off…"

Elenor kicked him in the side of his stomach. The man doubled up in pain. “You’re a big man, but you’re in bad shape. For me it’s a full time job. Now behave yourself.” Dodo tried to get up again so Elenor dislocated his ankle with a sharp kick. "I really don't enjoy doing this. I think violence is ugly. If I have to keep doing this it's going to make me upset, and that often makes me angry. You don't want to make me angry, do you?" Elenor kicked him in the face with her right boot. “I might turn green.”

"Fahkin' Red Rover… he's drinking in the Red Rover…"

"Thank you." Elenor buttoned up her great coat and walked down the road.

The Red Rover pub

“I’m looking for Mr Walker,” said Elenor as she walked into the smoke filled bar. It was a small corner pub full of working class lowlifes.

“That’s me, girl. You’re a bit tatty for a strippergram though. ‘Oo sent ya?” Walker was in his late forties and followed the usual London criminal fashion by wearing a smart tan coloured woollen coat.

Elenor simply walked up and punched him in the face. Walker fell back and crashed over the bar, landing head first on the other side. His head cracked the glass in the chill cabinet on the way down. Walker’s two men took a second to switch from relaxed drinking mode, to declaration of war mode and Elenor used that second to drive her elbow into the solar plexus of the biggest looking man and then grab his hair as his head came down and smack it hard, with the help of gravity, against the bar counter.

The second man had time to pull a knife, or rather begin to pull a knife. Elenor span round on the balls of her feet as the knife cleared its sheath under the coat, and she snapped two quick punches into his face and kidneys. He too fell backwards. Elenor threw herself on top of his body and followed him down. She head butted him in the face at the moment after his head bounced off the flagstone floor.

There was stunned silence in the boozer as Elenor picked herself up off the floor, just as Mr Walker began to stir on the other side of the bar.

“Bacardi Breezer. Grapefruit flavour,” she snapped at the shocked barman, in a tough kind of voice.

“Whatever you want! Sure thing!” The barman grabbed a bottle and flipped the cap off. Elenor hopped quickly over the bar and landed next to Walker. She pulled him to his feet and leaned him against the optics.

“Hi. I’m Elenor, and I don’t like you.” She head butted him and broke his nose with her forehead. “Ow. Now that hurt me too. Have I got your attention?” Blood streamed down Walker’s lower face. He stared at her with dazed comprehension. “Good. You’re guilty of extortion and intimidation and propagating acts of brutal violence. I’m calling the police and they’re going to lock you away for a very long time.”

The policemen looked bored as they walked into the Red Rover pub. They took in the scene with a degree of surprise. Mr Walker and two of his men sat at a table in the back, nursing some bloody looking injuries. A confident looking blonde woman, very pretty, and dressed in black combat pants, a baggy wool top, heavy boots and a long army great coat, stood watching them all with her arms folded. A number of casual drinkers stood nearby, obviously amused and interested by the events to come. Behind the bar the barman looked obviously distressed.

"Evening Harry," said the senior police officer to the barman. He gazed at the dumb looking faces in the room. "So who’s the bright lad that’s going to tell me what this is all about then?"

Elenor stepped forward and pointed at Walker and his cronies. "Officer, these men are professional criminals. They have been extorting money from numerous businesses in Camden, using terror and intimidation and…"

"This mad bitch attacked us!" said one of Walker’s men. His bloodied face was a horrible sight to behold. "Came right out of nowhere and jumped us while we were having a quiet drink!"

Elenor hadn’t expected this.

"That so?" said the policemen to the assembled boozers.

"Yeah," said one of the men in the bar. "Tha's right. Really up for it, she was. Came straight in and started punching people abaht."

“Really psycho she was,” said another man.

"You attacked these men?" said PC Denton.

"Well yes… of course I did… they're criminals… you need to arrest them for extortion, blackmail, intimidation…"

"Cuff 'er, Harris." He turned to face Elenor. "You have the right to remain silent, the right…"

"Woah!" Elenor swatted PC Harris's hands away as he moved towards her with a pair of steel handcuffs. "You need to arrest them, not me!"

"Watch 'er!" shouted a short man with three day old stubble. "She's good with her fists."

PC Harris tried to grab Elenor and received a punch in the face for his troubles.

"See!" shouted Walker from where he sat, a white cotton handkerchief pressed to his face, "she's a psychopath!"

Harris drew his truncheon, and Elenor kicked him quickly in the balls. She span round, her long coat flapping, just in time to face PC Denton's mace spray. Elenor took a full squirt of police strength mace directly in her eyes and mouth. The effect was instantaneous. Elenor fell crashing to the ground. PC Harris delivered a short sharp kick to her ribs as she lay there, coughing and choking. Elenor's face was burning as if she'd been sprayed with acid. She could hardly breathe and she certainly couldn't see. She felt her arms twisted behind her back and the handcuffs locked in place.

"Tha's more like it," said Walker with a grin. "I'll be down the station later wiv the lads to press some charges."

"So will I," said the barman. "She broke my bloody chill cabinet!"

A Police Station in North London

The black leather chair swivelled round to reveal Peter Gabriel, wearing a monocle in one eye and stroking a miserable looking, white, long haired cat that sat on his lap.

"So, Argent… our paths cross again." He chuckled. "You thought you could infiltrate my top secret rocket establishment…"

"What?" Elenor stared, confused.

"Sorry, but I've always wanted to say that to a superhero. I saw the police station had a pet cat, and, well…"

"I don't understand…"

"You obviously don't watch the same sort of movies, Peter and I do," said Simon Bretnor from the corner of the room. He uncorked a bottle of Laphroaig and poured two stiff measures in a pair of glass tumblers. "I'd offer you a drink, but to be honest we're a bit nervous about untying your hands."

"You might go all kung fu on us," explained Gabriel as he tickled the cat under its chin.

"What are you doing here?" asked Elenor.

"Investigating a murder case, actually. Does the name James Pemberton ring any bells?"

"I didn't do it! I wasn't even there!"

Bretnor sat on the edge of Gabriel's police desk and sipped his whisky. Gabriel in the meantime was dangling a piece of string for the cat to swipe at. "Of course everyone says that. You wouldn't believe how many innocent people are banged up in His Majesty's prisons these days."

"Not a guilty man or woman amongst them," added Gabriel.

"Never done a thing wrong in their lives. It’s a tragedy how many miscarriages of justice…"

"But I am innocent!" cried Elenor.

"Well, that's the funny thing. That's why we're here and why you haven't been whisked directly to a Tabula Rasa containment cell. We half believe you."

"You do?"

"Peter and I may be pissed most of the time, but that doesn't mean we're stupid."

"We don't buy French wine for starters," added Gabriel. "Only stupid people would do that."

"The thing is, all the evidence against you is far too neat and tidy. Either you want to get caught, or someone's making damn certain that you are."

"I’ve never even met the man I'm accused of killing. How did you two find me anyway?"

"Your fingerprints brought up a message telling the Police chief to phone our office number. He doesn't know why, but we've got jurisdiction over you right now. That means we get to decide what happens to you."

"Good thing we're friends, isn't it?" said Gabriel as he dumped the cat onto the desk. It meowed and arched its tail.

"I worked with you on that Brood case, didn’t I?"

"Yes, and you knocked us out with your sonic scream," said Bretnor.

"That was to save your lives. Alex was about to shoot you."

"I would have shot him first."

"Whatever. I did it to save your life."

"You know, it would be very easy for Peter and me to simply hand you over to the Tabula Rasa. We'd get a big pat on the back, a pay rise from Mr Price, and maybe even a knighthood from the King for services to the state. Plus we wouldn’t have to do any more work on this case."

"Then why don't you?" Elenor regarded the men suspiciously.

"Actually Peter, now that I think of it, why don't we?"

"We don't like the Tabula Rasa, remember," pointed out Gabriel.

"Ah, yes. Frankly, Argent, they've really pissed us off last year."

"I don't like them either."

Gabriel drew a chair forward for Elenor to sit on. "Then perhaps it's time we had a little chat.”

“So we’ll be in touch,” said Bretnor as he led Elenor back out into the main Police hall. “Here’s a card with our phone number on it, in case you think of anything else we need to know.”

Elenor took the white business card and placed it in her pocket. “Thank you. I’m really grateful that you believe me. What are you going to say to the Tabula Rasa?”

“Well they haven’t actually got back to us yet. Wardog said he’d be back in the new year but he hasn’t made an appearance.”

Elenor had chosen not to mention that she had seen Wardog at her Uncle’s house on Christmas Eve. She didn’t want her family to be involved in this.

“Hey!” A Policeman shouted from across the counter. “Where do you think you’re going! We have to put her back in the cells.” A couple of officers fast walked towards Bretnor and Gabriel as they led Elenor towards the front door.

“Read the card,” said Gabriel with a sigh. He flashed his glossy ID. Beside his name and photo ran the words, Class A1 authority by the order of the Tabula Rasa. The bearer of this card is entitled to override all English state law in defence of the realm..

“But she’s our prisoner.”

“Ours now, and we’re letting her go. Send the case file over to Whitehall.” Bretnor handed the policeman a business card.

Elenor grinned, highly impressed by this. “You’re handy people to know.”

“We like to think so,” admitted Gabriel. “Perhaps you’d care for dinner one night…”

Elenor laughed and shook her head. “Let’s keep this on a business level, shall we?”

“You obviously don’t understand how we do business,” replied Gabriel with a nonchalant smile. “We’ve got a really big expense account and you look like you haven’t eaten too well lately.”

A Policeman brought over a box containing Elenor’s few possessions that had been removed from her at the time of the arrest. He handed her a clipboard and a pen. “Sign here when you’ve taken everything.”

Elenor signed for her camel skin shoulder bag, her Gucci purse, the gold and diamond Cartier watch and her silver crucifix. She checked that all her money was still in the purse, and then she fastened the clasp of the crucifix around her throat.

“Are you a Christian, or are you just afraid of blood sucking fiends like Peter?” asked Bretnor. He pointed at the cross. It had been a present from Elenor’s Uncle Gideon many, many years ago.

“I’m Catholic, yes.”

“Better be careful, Peter. You touch that and you’ll burn your hand.” The Orbital agents laughed.

“What?” Elenor fingered the crucifix that hung now in the cleft between her breasts. “What do you mean, burnt?”

“Just a joke. You know – dark creatures of the night, recoiling from the sign of the cross. Grrr! Aarggh!” Bretnor pretended to recoil from Elenor. “You really don’t watch the same films as us, do you?”

“It’s all right. I’m not undead, honestly. I just have really bad hangovers in the mornings.” Gabriel was quick to reassure her. “What’s wrong?”

“Alyson.” Elenor sniffed.

“What? Who’s Alyson?”

“Alyson burnt her hand. Alyson burnt her hand…”

“Sorry, you’ve lost us there.”

“Oh God, no.” Elenor shook her head. “No…this can’t be happening… no…”

“Hey, what are you talking about?”

“I’ve got to go.” Elenor grabbed her bag and ran quickly out of the Police station. A horrible thought was running now through her mind.

A Pub

There were a dozen or so members of the Furies in the pub basement. It hadn’t been difficult to track them down following a short detour home and a trip to a late night department store. Alyson was always trying to persuade Elenor to join her new friends for drinks. “We’re superheroes like you, Elie. We have so much in common. Come out for a drink – meet the others.” And tonight Elenor had chosen to take them up on that offer.

Elenor stood at the foot of the stairs. She was holding her new purchase in her right hand and was staring with dagger like eyes at the group of super humans as they drank and laughed in their favourite bar. Gradually, one by one, they began to notice her.

"Is this supposed to be dramatic? The way you're standing there, all sullen and determined looking." Russell smiled. "Is there supposed to be some stirring music building up in the background as you open your mouth to speak?"

Elenor's lower lip was trembling, mostly from rage. "Is there something you think you should be telling me, Alyson?" she said at last.

Alyson glanced up. She was sandwiched between two of the men. Anya sat nearby.

"Come and sit down with us, Elenor," said Russell. "Have a drink. I'm buying tonight."

Elenor raised her hand. In it was a palm-held Polaroid instamatic camera. She pointed it at the superheroes seated at the table. A number of the Furies frowned.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Russell, a slight edge to his voice.

"If I'm wrong… Oh God, Alyson, I do so hope I'm wrong… if I'm wrong… this is going to be a nice happy party snap, and then we'll have a drink together and I'll apologise." Elenor placed her finger on the shutter switch.

"We don't like photos," said Russell calmly. "We work in the shadows so I’m afraid I can't allow you to take our pictures. Our identities could be compromised and…"

"Shut up. Shut up, Russell." Elenor placed the viewfinder to her eye.

"I don't know what's going through your head… this is stupid…"

"I'm going to take your photo. That is if you can be photographed."

"Elenor…" Alyson made to get up, but it was too late, the flash activated and a square piece of card slid out of the Polaroid. Elenor took it between her fingers, peeled back the foil and began to shake the picture dry. She stared intensely at the Furies all the while.

Russell rose next to Elenor, as did Anya, Bride, McKenzie and a couple of the others.

"Still time to give me the photo," said Russell. "You're compromising our identities…"

Elenor stared him down. She continued to shake the developing photo.

"Ellie…" said Alyson.

"I'm having trouble believing this. I don't want to believe this." Her voice was harsh. "But in a few seconds I'm going to know, one way or another."

"It's probably ready now," said Russell softly.

Elenor nodded and raised the photo slowly. She kept her eyes on him. Only when the photo was in her direct line of sight did she allow her eyes to flick quickly and look at it. "Oh Alyson…" she was close to tears. "Alyson… what the fuck have you done…"

"Ellie, listen, it's not what you think…"

"Alyson… Oh God… Alyson…"

Russell cocked his head and glared at Argent. "Satisfied now. Are you any happier for knowing?"

"Ellie, you don't understand. We're superheroes! Just like you! We can fight crime and do good and…"

Elenor hung her head down. "Stop it, Alyson. Just shut up."

"But…"

Russell waved Alyson quiet. "This wasn't the way we were going to tell you. But at least it makes things easier."

"And to think you tried to persuade me to join you?" Elenor's eyes were blazing with rage now. "How could you have even dreamt that I'd want something like this!"

Russell shrugged. "Lots of people do. We're nothing like the films. There's more to it than that."

"Oh right. I know what you're going to say. You're still people, there's no reason why your powers make you any more irresponsible than any other breed of superhuman; it's not like you're evil and wear long black cloaks or anything - I know all that - I mean films are films, and I'm not that stupid to believe the stereotypes. I mean it has to be some medical condition, right? You're still basically the same people inside, but I don’t think I can deal with the whole blood thing and…"

Anya suddenly burst out laughing. Slowly, one by one, the other members of the Furies joined in. Finally Russell and Anya added their peals of laughter to the acoustics of the room as well. Alyson leaned against Russell, no longer capable of retaining a straight face.

"What? I don't understand - what's so funny?"

Russell put his arm around Alyson's slim waist. "Just what you said, Elenor. That bit about you ‘know we're not evil’ or anything."

"So?"

"Well," he grinned, "it's just that… well… you see… actually we are evil." His face slowly lost its smile. Around the room the laughter of the Furies also died away. From somewhere behind Elenor the lock slid shut on the door. "We're very, very evil as a matter of fact."

One by one the Furies opened their mouths to reveal sharp canine teeth that grew disproportionately large within the space of seconds.

"Oh Ellie," said Alyson sweetly. "You stupid little bitch. Now look what you've gone and made us do."

"I…"