The Plot thickens

WW was working on her father’s farm high in the Idaho mountains. The cool mountain air had a bite to it as she hefted hay bales, tossing them lightly into piles with her amazon strength. WW was alone except for the soft mooing of contented cows, yet she was happy and at peace as she worked. Suddenly a sweet tenor sounded across the field, yodeling the ancient songs of the Germanic mountaineers. WW looked up, squinting against the early morning rays as that sweet manly yodel drew closer. Then he was there, cresting the fields in long strides, lederhosen straining over bulging muscles, taller than her, the man of her dreams swept WW up and pulled her close to his broad chest. She snuggled close with a contented sigh, enjoying his warmth and wet, acrid scent.

Wait a minute…

WW opened her eyes with a groan and wondered where she was and what she was snuggiling. Judging by the grit under her left cheek she was lying on cracked cement. Something heavy was on her back, pressing her closer to the pavement. A thick, gooey wetness filled her senses as it dripped down her face and body to lie in sticky puddles around her. As she grew more aware, the memories started to trickle back: the humidity, the punks, the Holstein?

With a roar WW pushed herself off the pavement and free of the mangled remains of the punitive cow. The bright sun dazzled her for a moment and she desperately tried to wipe the blood and gore from her face. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The street was cracked and broken, with asphalt ripped open in jagged chunks. These broken pieces were whirling into the air, circling to pick up speed before launching into the scrabbling, ducking crowd of punks. In the middle of this rocky cyclone, DFL stood imperiously, eyes hard in concentration as her hands directed her missiles with deadly accuracy. BSA had nabbed some unfortunate soul and TA was nowhere to be seen; probably in need of rescuing WW harrumphed. Well, as the group powerhouse it was her duty to rout the rabble, for nothing could stop an Amazon in all her patriotic glory. WW looked fondly down at her flag inspired leathers, only to gasp in horrified astonishment at the damaged wreaked by various liquid cow goo. (I could go into detail here, but do you really want me to?) A slow, burning rage began to fill her mind as she reached over and ripped off a hind leg that had somehow remained intact. Someone was going to pay. She hefted the leg and screamed her battle cry, “FOR THE LEATHERS!!!” as she raced into the remaining punks. However, at the sight of this apparition the punks finally broke and began racing in all directions as they attempted to escape their cowey fate.

As the punk mob broke and run, WW dashed madly behind them, using her gruesome club to take down as many as possible. (Like whack-a-mole! Only wetter.)

****
And then there was one. The adventure of DFL.

As the punk mob raced towars TA and DFL, TA looked at the oncoming horde of punks, hefted her bo staff and said ruefully, “you know, ninjas were never meant for crowd control. We’re more of a one-on-one, spy, steal and assassinate type warrior, so I’ll leave this to your more applicable talents”
DFL rounded on the ninja with a furious gaze, “Don’t you dare!!” she began angrily but the diminutive ninja had already gone, fading into the dappled shadows of the park with nary a sound to betray her.
“Fine” DFL continued, just in case TA was still within hearing distance “Any Dictator worth her salt can put down an angry mob. I give you my permission to depart.”
She then turned her attention back to the punks. There were simply too many of them for her to control, and they were getting awfully close. She would have to get creative. DFL smirked at the oncoming horde and said “You dare to challenge me! I control the very streets!” She compressed her will into a tight ball and then using all her focus, mentally slammed it into the road. Under the psychic assault the street buckled and twisted throwing the punks off their feet. The asphalt stretched, bent, and finally split into giant cracks under the enormous pressure of the twisting street.
As the punks attempted to stand up on the remaining road, DFL felt a cold smile touch her lips. Time for step 2 in the rebel smackdown. She directed her gaze at the sidewalk in front of the “House” that may or may not be “White.” It was constructed of large, rectangular blocks of stone. She pointed at a stone block and commanded it to rise. Guiding it’s path with her finger, she flipped it into the stumbling punks where it landed with a satisfying thud. With a grunt she snagged a second block, they were heavier than she expected, and sent it flipping after the first. At the third she felt the first glistening drops on her forehead and became seriously annoyed. Dictators didn’t do heavy lifting. Where was WW when you needed her? She should be here flinging assorted masonry but nooo, that lazy amazon was taking a nap under a cow. She used her irritation to fuel the fourth block, taking out an entire line of punks as it blasted through the air.

Despite DFL’s best efforts, the mass of punks continued bravely on, working their way across the uneven pavement and dodging the stone blocks. One plucky lad actually made it within striking distance before DFL put up an imperious right hand and held him in his tracks. She looked deep into his eyes and intoned, “I’m not the Roman Emperor you’re looking for”
His eyes glazed over and he repeated back, “You’re not the Roman Emperor I’m looking for.”
Still locked in eye contact with the punk, DFL used her left hand to throw another block against his fellows. A sharp pain flared in her right temple, but she ignored it and continued with her enslaved punk.
“You will bring me a Diet Coke”
“I will bring you a Diet Coke” a small drool line was forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Then you will go home and rethink your fashion choices.”
The punk dutifully parroted this back and left as DFL launched yet another block, sending another flare of pain across her temples. DFL staggered under this new flash of pain and decided to change tactics. She focused on all the fragments of asphalt surrounding her and started sending them into the punk mob. Unfortunately, while the fragments stung and left welts they didn’t hamper the now angry and determined punks. DFL frowned, and started the fragments circling around her in a defensive sphere as she searched for new ammunition. The punks hung back, defensive as they looked for a break in the swirling debris. DFL’s eyes landed on the mangled cow and she smiled. That’s what she needed, just a little terminal velocity to turn the tide. She closed her eyes and focused on the fragments whirling around her, spinning them faster and faster until they cut through the air with a high pitched whine. DFL opened her eyes and started sending her high speed shrapnel into the mob with sharpshooter accuracy. Cries of pain rose up from their ranks and the advance stopped as everyone suddenly tried to be in the center of the crowd. DFL continued picking off the edges until suddenly, with a roar of “FOR THE LEATHERS!!” WW leapt into the fray wielding a cow leg and the punk army broke and ran. “Ew, gross” remarked DFL, her lip curling at the blood spatter as WW began chasing the retreating punks.

As the street cleared, DFL picked her way down to the PNC Bank, where BSA was adjusting her makeup in a compact. A pale punk lay limp at her feet. DFL nudged the punk with her foot and said “So will this one be a CPA?”
“Please” laughed BSA as she snapped the compact shut, “I don’t elevate just anyone into the elevated ranks of accounting.” She picked some invisible lint off her suit and looked over the punk. “Although he will balance his checkbook and manage his credit reports obsessively for the rest of his life.”
DFL smirked and replied “Hey, personal money management is important.”
BSA returned the smirk, “That’s right! He should thank me for doing him such a service.”
Just then SB’s unconscious form fell by them and DFL jumped slightly as TA asked “So, I see lots of bodies lying around, how many will be signing up as business majors next semester?”
“Just this one” BSA replied defensively.
“And you shouldn’t sneak up like that, it’s rude” DFL added.
“Hello, ninja?” TA pointed out helpfully, “by the way, where’s WW?” she asked.
BSA shrugged and DFL flapped her hand in the general direction of the park, “She went that way, playing with the leftovers. Did you know she spent most of the battle under a cow?”
“A cow?” said a confused BSA, “How did that happen?”
DFL was about to explain when suddenly, the sky grew dark and a strange, shrieking laugh echoed all around them. “At last!” it said “I have found a worthy adversary!!” The three heroines formed a tight circle, back to back as they tried to identify this strange new threat.
“This can’t be good” remarked TA.
“What IS that?” demanded DFL.
“Nice of it to block the sun,” BSA remarked casually, “I’m growing stronger by the second.”
The weird, shrieking laugh sounded again, and the ground beneath their feet grew soft and they started to sink.
“Crap!” swore BSA as she tried to shapeshift out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a hat!” swore TA as she tried to leap out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a freaking bucket!!” Swore DFL as she tried to command the sinking ground.
And off in the park:
“Oh Dookie.” Sighed WW as she pounded at the sinking ground with her cow leg.

However it was to no avail, and soon the ground had swallowed all four heroines and then all was blackness.

Is this the end for our intrepid band of heroes? Of course not… when are heroes awake they find themselves:

A: On a train
B. In a desert
C: In a house of many doors
D: By a lake