October 7th, 2005. 4:27am.
Misty Joines' body had never been found. Which made sense, as Misty was just now waking up on a deserted beach around Independence Port. She had no idea how much time had passed, or even where she was, exactly. In fact, there wasn't much going on her mind right about then except processing everything her long-unused senses fed her brain.
Bit by bit, memories trickled back into her head. The Saturday afternoon practice. Her plans for the evening. The barely-heard discussion about what to do with her body. The three voices she identified as the girls she'd kicked off the squad just that day. Her missing Prada heels and handbag. Her ruined Gucci dress.
If they had thought she was angry then...they hadn't seen anything yet.
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October 8, 2005. 2:21am.
She was still in Independence Port; she had to hide from the people and...things here. She'd seen the Council before, they liked to preach in Steel Canyon, but she hadn't seen the mafia-types before. They paled in comparison to the huge creatures that stalked around the beach where she'd washed up, though; things that miraculously hadn't seen her. Things that looked like they were made of rocks, or of crystals, or even of plants and mushrooms. Her memory put the name devouring earth to them, weird creatures mentioned in the paper sometimes but that she'd kind of thought were about as real as Area 51. (Then again, remember the Rikti invasion...proof that aliens did exist.)
When she sought her hiding place, she discovered something about her had changed; she could make herself invisible. Misty had thought that over, about the possibilities. Having powers like one of the heroes-- but every time she thought of that, her mind shifted toward what had gotten her here. What they'd done to her and her outfit. Her anger never truly abated, but just kept building on itself, bit by bit, until it dominated her entire being.
She'd get her revenge. She'd get out of here, she'd use this new ability to get back into the small suburb next to Steel Canyon that had been her home, and currently held those three. She was going to make them pay.
Misty snuck past a group of Council-- bit of a shame about one of them, he was kind of cute beneath his goggles-- and moved toward a clothing store. Pausing briefly to get a newspaper someone had tossed aside, both to get the date and to see if there was any mention of what happened to her. October 8th...nearly a month had passed.
Joines Family Angered over Trial Postponement.
Trial...postponement. The article talked about how the families of the three girls had immediately posted bail after they were caught, about her dad's fight to have them tried as adults for First-degree Murder. And somehow, the trial ended up being postponed for an unspecified period of time, with the three accused being put on restriction. She knew what would happen; even though her dad was a good lawyer, she knew they'd somehow get away with a slap on the wrist, through things like bribery. Just because they called Paragon City a "City of Heroes" didn't mean things were all gravy behind the scenes, after all. Misty had never wanted to believe that, but it was true.
That was when something inside her just...snapped.
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October 8, 2005. 5:05am.
Part of her deep down considered it a shame, what she'd done to the poor security guard at that clothing store. But that more determined, more vindictive part-- the part in control-- considered it a necessary evil. He was in the way, and besides...his death had shown her more of what she could do. She'd felt the energy channeled through her body into her fists, giving them a glowing pink-white aura as she broke his jaw then crushed the side of his head. Thanks to him, she knew what she was going to do to the three girls who thought they'd killed her.
It had been incredibly easy sneaking into the first house; all she had to do was be silent as she moved, as she let herself into their house. A sudden growling was heard near her feet-- a toy poodle had apparently sensed something. It wasn't looking at her, but it knew something was there. She'd never liked that dog anyway.
A bloody mess on the floor later, she was moving upstairs, having once again drawn that invisibility around herself. It probably had something to do with the glowy stuff around her fists sometimes, but Misty didn't really think into it too much. It would do what she wanted it to do, and that was what mattered. The girl's door was easy to identify, with its insipid little cherub picture. Angels, her [censored]. She wondered what angel would have the nerve to protect her now.
Once inside, Misty stood above her bed for a moment. Debating whether she'd just hit her, and never let her wake up...or wake her up so that her former teammate saw who was putting an end to her worthless little life. She seemed able to hit harder when she was hiding; but really, how likely was this [censored] going to survive anyway?
Misty just smiled, letting the invisibility fall away. "Wake up, little girl...you're not dreaming," she said in a little singsong, feeling the now-familiar tingle in her fists as the energy gathered there.
In that moment between comprehension and the inevitable scream, Misty struck. Her fist first crushed the girl's throat, turning what would have been a scream into a wheeze. The next hit was square in the face, shattering all of her bones. Only fitting, to ruin her looks and make sure it had to be a closed-casket funeral. She learned from their mistake when they thought they'd killed her; she stayed until she was sure the girl had died before sneaking back out.
The act of killing had sent a weird thrill through her body; this was what living was all about. It made her glad she'd never slept with her boyfriend, too...there was no way that could hope to compare to this strange joy in knowing she had that ultimate control, that she could slip in and out undetected, committing the perfect homicide. Knowing she could end a life just like that. A little part of her might have pulled back in revulsion, her former self, but all bets were off, now. She was presumed dead? Well, she was back now...and that trial was going to be postponed, allright.
A snippet from Chicago ran through her head: It was a murder, but not a crime...
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October 8, 2005. 5:31am.
Now that had been cool. That time she'd gotten to do a double-- there had been a boy in the bed with the second girl, while her parents were out of town. This time she hadn't taken a chance with coming out of hiding; she just struck, hitting them both simultaneously. Like the first hit with the first girl, she went for the throat, completely crushing their windpipes; again, she waited until she was certain they were dead before she left.
It seemed as though nothing could wipe the smile from her face as she jogged into the woods behind the house, taking that familiar path to the next neighborhood over in which girl number three lived.
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October 8, 2005. 5:53am.
Now this was quite a surprise. Girl number three also had a nighttime visitor, though her parents were home...and that nighttime visitor just happened to be Misty's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. The boy who had been her boyfriend the night they tried to kill her. He had to have been on it-- this couldn't have been a spur-of-the-moment thing. It was a conspiracy against her, it was premeditated like Daddy claimed.
And now the [censored] was sleeping with her boyfriend. Figured. He couldn't get her to put out, so he turned to this no-talent ho. She'd definitely be waking them up before she landed her killing blows. Misty was no longer smiling, but her eagerness and anticipation was in no way lessened. First her ex-- she could probably risk a scream from Girl Three, and just rely on her ability to hide to get her out of there quickly. On the other hand, there was that chance they might somehow survive...nah. Her self-defense classes had taught her that death came pretty quickly when you crushed someone's windpipe, and that seemed to be the most effective hit with this newfound ability, when she didn't want to toy with them.
Her vindictive nature won out over practicality; she would wake them up before killing them. Misty smiled slightly, eyes narrowing...and she sang to them, softly. That song that had been 'their song'.
"You're really lovely, underneath it all / you want to love me, underneath it all / I'm really lucky, underneath it all..."
It did the trick; they both woke up, in time for Girl Three to see Misty land that happy little killing blow on the boy. He only got out a brief sound before he lost consciousness; her practice with that hit meant that now there wouldn't even be a little wheeze like there'd been with the first. Of course, it gave Three a good chance to get out a scream, but she'd anticipated that-- and put an end to it quickly enough. First, with her hand around the girl's throat, leaning in close to hiss out some final words for the girl.
"You went to my church, you oughta remember-- do unto others, [censored]." Then as with the first, she did a one-two with a punch to the throat and then to the face. Misty was ready to leave now in triumph, having accomplished her set goal.
Those moments of indulgence, unfortunately, were her undoing; the scream had roused the parents, and she didn't even have a chance to try and dodge before taking six bullets squarely in the chest. Even with her altered physiology, and knowing even this probably wouldn't kill her...the blood loss was enough that she was weakened and unable to escape, the glowing energy around her fists fading then flickering out as she slid to the floor.
She wasn't yet unconscious when the authorities arrived: a team of Paragon Policemen, and a costumed hero. Doc Quantum, they called him. Misty looked the hero squarely in the eye, and hoped he saw every bit of her satisfaction over what she'd done, and the intense hatred she was feeling for all of them right them.
"Where were you when they killed me?" she asked him in a whisper, before passing out.
October 31, 2005. 9:32am.
She'd heard all about it by now. The media latched onto the multiple homicide with glee, like vultures. They called her 'the angry cheerleader'-- a botched homicide come back for revenge. It was the talk of her hometown, and Steel Canyon itself. Misty Joines, who everyone had thought dead, had come back-- and had superpowers. Then had killed the three accused of her murder, the same three she'd kicked off the squad that day in September. She even heard that some kid at her former high school-- the name rang a distant bell, one of the 'reject' types-- had set up a website devoted to her. Following her case, with some people on some forum even singing her praises.
Huh. Wasn't that funny. Misty figured it paid off to not pick on any one group in the end. The rejects and outcasts and all were the kind who noticed when someone did that, instead of singling them out. Their favorite equal-opportunity [censored], apparently.
They'd put her in solitary, looking to try her as an adult for first-degree murder (ironically enough). She was undergoing psychiatric evaluation, which she suffered patiently enough. Misty didn't feel insane, she didn't care about trying to hide behind that sort of defense, so what did it matter to her? Her dad was refraining from saying anything about this case. Her whole family practically disowned her, except her older sister, Amy, who kept writing to her.
The Zig's main psychiatrist said something about 'antisocial personality disorder'. Misty had no idea what that was, but just tolerated the endless questions. What did it matter? She was pretty sure that if the prosecution had its way and she got tried as an adult-- she was seventeen, after all, practically one anyway-- she'd end up getting life in prison. (She was pretty sure they didn't do the death penalty here, but wasn't totally certain.)
It wasn't like she regretted any of what she'd done, not even killing the poodle. It needed doing, they needed to pay for what they did to her. It was just a bonus that she could scare them first, and unfortunate that she got caught like she did. Besides. She took six bullets to the chest-- and was just dandy now. How was that for badass? But she did miss that tingle of energy...stupid nullifiers. Or whatever it was they used to suppress what she could do now.
Maybe they'd let her out today...the others in the Zig's Women's Facility tended to avoid her anyway. Apparently she creeped most of them out for some reason, which was fine. Misty didn't particularly feel up to socializing with any of them, or telling some of the more uppity women that she didn't want to be their girlfriend. Ick. She thought that stuff only happened in the men's area.
Whatever. Misty yawned, and went back to what she was doing.
Dear Amy, The food here is awful...
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December 25, 2005. 10:18pm.
She'd been in a dead sleep when the sound of her cell door banging open made her wake with a start. Misty blinked at the form in the door, moments later registering it as a huge man in what looked like torn black leather, wrapped in barbed wire. He grabbed her hands in one of his and jerked her to her feet, then broke the wrist-devices that had been used to nullify her powers as if they'd been made of cheap plastic.
"Get outta here," he growled at her, before leaving. Misty stood there and blinked a few moments longer, processing what exactly was going on; then she heard the alarms going off all around her. There was just a moment's thought and hesitation before she stripped, taking off the orange jumpsuit she'd been wearing and putting on her old Steel Canyon High cheerleading uniform that her older sister had sent. A souvenir of sorts, that Misty had requested and been granted.
She made a run for it, noting with amusement that many of the cells were still shut. Apparently not everyone was to be let out in this particular jailbreak. They sent her to some guy over toward the men's area, who in turn sent her to someone else. Contacts, it seemed, steps toward getting her out of there. Jeez, there were a lot of the guys in black armor all around...hey, a couple of them looked kinda cute, too. Nice, tight pants. Why couldn't one of them be her contact? Oh well.
One of them, some dude named Morben, sent her on to some dude who looked like he hung out with the Tsoo. She knew who they were, they hung out a lot in Steel. Apparently she had to smack a few of the other convicts around before they'd help her out of here. Something about 'proving her strength to Lord Recluse'. Whatever. As long as it got her out of here...
Four convicts, a few security guards, and a rescued pilot later, she was on the Arachnos flyer headed for the Rogue Isles to talk to some woman named Kalinda.
Misty smiled and leaned back in her seat. It had been a good day; she started composing her next letter to her sister in her head.
Dear Amy, You won't believe what happened today...
The Present.
Misty Joines, now known throughout the Rogue Isles as a Stalker called the Angry Cheerleader, sat on one of the immense spiderweb cables over Grandville. She was Hiding, of course; except for some Wailers at the fringes of St. Martial and a few Circle of Thorns toward the northern reaches of Nerva, most potential enemies in the other parts of the Rogue Isles were beneath her regard and wouldn't think of attacking her on their own. They knew who she was, and they wanted to continue breathing. For the most part, Misty left them alone; though sometimes she did forget to take her medication...oh well, too bad for them.
Grandville was another matter. Here she was the one who had to be on her guard, between the Bane Spiders-- some of whom could Hide just like she could-- and new kinds of robot-spiders and even the ugly-[censored] Arachnoids...all of whom wouldn't mind beating up on one of the 'supervillains' recruited by Recluse. It was all allowed, of course. Misty had learned quickly that the Rogue Isles were about survival of the fittest. Sometimes it meant banding together with other villains, and she'd found her own group, which even included the man who'd busted her out of her cell at the Zig.
Oh, sure, she didn't like all of them-- but for the most part, they were more tolerable than pretty much anyone from her former life. Of course, her only tie to her former life was her sister Amy, to whom she still wrote, and to whom she was writing now. Not that she told Amy everything, she had to be discreet sometimes, but it was kind of nice being able to write sometimes. E-mail usually; she might write stuff out in a notepad, but it ended up being put on her laptop later. Maybe she'd write to that guy from her old school too-- who still maintained what seemed to be a fansite about her. She did that sometimes...it was kinda weird but neat having fans, who were positively thrilled at her recent exploits in Paragon City itself.
Not that the robberies had been her first trip back-- no, that first trip was to earn the right to wear a cape, and she'd gone against none other than Doc Quantum himself. "Miss me?" she'd said, before the fight began. It ended with her tearing the cape from his shoulders, and later trading it off to the Facemaker for the most adorable scarf, that looked much cuter with her cheerleading outfit. (Which also had been remade by the facemaker, accessorized by shiny, pretty chains and fishnets. How very fun!)
Now she was here, in Grandville. Where the elite among the villainous sector went. Where Lord Recluse and his lieutenants themselves were-- where she'd earned the regard of the lieutenant called Scirocco. Hee. He was so nice, it made it even better when she thought about what he could do, what she'd heard he was capable of. So what if he commanded those creepy floating bondage dudes? He'd chosen her to be one of those he guided-- she felt almost giddy, like when her ex-boyfriend had first asked her out ages ago.
It just sucked that she had to wait until she was considered more of a 'threat' to be able to get more missions from him. But that was okay-- she'd get there soon, to see her patron again. Until then, she got to play around with this red lightning he'd taught her to use. It went well with the way her eyes glowed red now, and coordinated with her uniform.
Yes, Misty was happy. She smiled, swinging her ankles as she sat on one of the Web's strands.
Once she'd been thought dead...but now? She couldn't imagine feeling more alive.
The origin of the one called 'the Angry Cheerleader'...
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September 17, 2005. 5:30pm.
"Smack them down, kick 'em around, Steel Canyon's gonna hold that ground! Smack them down, kick 'em around, Steel Canyon's gonna hold! That! GROUND!"
Misty jumped back to her feet at the cheer's conclusion, throwing her pompoms to the ground as she whipped around to face two of her squad members. What had been a bright smile on her pretty face had turned within half a moment to a rather considerable anger; her team was used to these lightning-quick changes in mood and temper, but this time it had a definite target.
"This whole [censored] season you three've been half a beat off the rest of us! No matter how much I drill you, you just. Don't. Learn!" They knew she was gaining momentum at this point; she could tell by the way they started shifting their weight from foot to foot. "I even got the [censored] Drum Line out here in the hopes that maybe it would beat an ounce of some vague semblance of the slightest notion of something bearing a resemblance to rhythm into your heads!
"Apparently all it did was bang your two braincells together hard enough to knock each of them out." Brown eyes narrowed at them. "That's it. That's IT. I've had it with your stupidity. You're out. All three of you. We don't need you, and you're making the rest of us look bad. Get out of here."
They didn't move-- they were probably shocked that she'd actually gone through with what rumor had said would happen. That only served to incense her further; Misty was sick of people she saw as incompetent. Inferior. People who didn't seem to care about what they needed to do. "Do you not understand English? Or did that five-dollar Wal-Mart bleach kill your ears as well as your hair? I said get out! I don't wanna see you near this squad ever again!"
Misty stooped down, picking her pompoms up again before stalking off toward the locker room. "Practice over. Get out of here, all of you."
She didn't understand it. Why were people that stupid? What more could she do to make them see what they were doing wrong? It wasn't that she didn't like them-- well, okay, she didn't. But Misty Joines wasn't really known for liking much of anyone. She knew it was pretty harsh criticism of her, but it also was something in her favor-- she didn't pick on one group in particular, unlike some of the others. She didn't care if someone was a jock, a geek, a skater, whatever. For the most part, they all sucked, and she'd be glad to get out of high school and away from them.
Still, she couldn't stand people who just didn't get it. She tried and tried, and gave more chances than she should have-- and they still just didn't get it. The time had come to get rid of dead weight, if they had hopes of coming in first instead of second place at State in the spring. And the rest of the squad would just have to get over it.
Misty sighed, stepping out of the locker room shower, towel wrapped around herself and another in her hair, flipflops squelching across the floor back to her locker. A garment bag hung there-- the dress she was going to be wearing on her date tonight. She'd considered just getting dressed at her boyfriend's house...but a little vindictive part of herself decided to get ready here. They could see that new Gucci dress, with her Prada handbag and matching heels, bought with Daddy's credit card as an apology for his being gone on her birthday. They could see them, and be jealous. So there.
She hummed to herself later as she walked toward her Jeep, listening happily to the click of her heels on the pavement. Go to her boyfriend's house, have a nice date, go home and get her outfit ready for church tomorrow morning. Really, despite the afternoon's bout of anger at the three most useless girls in the world, it was a good day, and she was in a good mood once again.
Which was why she never saw it coming.
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September 17, 2005. 10:41pm.
Their first mistake was when they didn't make sure she was dead. Misty was alive, if barely, and just barely conscious. Conscious enough to know what happened, what was intended, and who had done it.
Conscious enough to decide-- even with her body covered in her own blood, sharp pains shooting through her entire body, her head aching, and wrapped loosely in black plastic-- she would get through this somehow. She'd see them locked away for doing this to her.
Conscious enough to wonder, as she heard mention of Independence Port, where the countless heroes normally hanging around Steel Canyon were.