Valerie regained consciousness abruptly and with the feeling of something crawling down her throat. She promptly panicked and tried to yell, cough and roll over at the same time, failing in all three. Something cold and unyielding had a grip on her whole torso from the neck down, arms included, and it felt as if her chest was being stepped on by a herd of elephants. Forced to do nothing but lie down and breathe shallowly, she slowly calmed down and a minute or two of silent tears later what was going on actually registered.

Oh. So that's why I can't get up.

Bits of shattered concrete, rubble and the broken remains of at least one exhibit covered her from the neck down. Most of a life-sized statue of black rock, sans head, was responsible for her lack of mobility and the water dripping from a crack in the ceiling overhead probably had something to do with the cold she felt. The worst was the mud, especially the bit spattered over her lower face. It tasted horrible.

Nothing feels broken at least, she thought numbly. Hope the grime washes out, those were my best casual clothes.

Feeling drained and out of it now that she no longer was in panic mode, she tried to see more of what was going on... which was mostly the cracked ceiling and one of the large holes in the outer wall. A bit of dust fell down then, the water dripping slightly faster too as the ceiling almost imperceptibly shifted. The half-buried girl blanched, all numbness replaced by the fear-fueled desire to get away posthaste.

"Move, you stupid statue!" she forced the words out along with an angry kick. Rubble scattered all over the floor with the grind of stone on stone, but with her arms still trapped by her sides she lacked the leverage to push. Voices from deeper into the museum cried for help while others called out in calmer tones, but Valerie did not pay attention. She was too busy heaving and cursing at the lump of rock that would not move.

"Come quick! There's another one," a man's voice shouted and soon several rescue workers in silver bunker suits with the Eye-and-Pyramid logo of the Powered Response Unit hurried into Valerie's field of view.

"Don't worry, miss, we'll get you out in a jiffy," one of them said and grabbed the statue as soon as the third member of their team finished waving a metal baton over the rubble. Then he lifted the quarter-ton piece of rubble and carried it away.

"Don't move just yet," the first rescue worker told her, removing smaller pieces of rubble. "We need to... ...damn!" He looked at something outside Valerie's field of vision, right over her legs. "Miss, do you feel any pain, discomfort, or any sensation you can't quite explain?"

"No," she grumbled. "Just being stuck here under all this weight. Cold too, from the water."

The three rescue workers exchanged worried looks, then cleared the rest of the rubble... only to reveal the dull, silvery, unyielding surface below.

"Just like the others," the third one said. "Let's just get her outside and see if the heroes can handle it." The three of them picked her up and moved her to a stretcher, her body still trapped under half an inch of steel in the rough shape of what had once been her clothes.

xxxx xxxx

"And with that it's all done," the Crimson Countess said, a shortsword of the same glowing, ruby-red material as her suit cutting the last bits of steel from around Valerie's left thigh.

And there goes my second favorite pair of jeans, Valerie mourned. At least it wasn't me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the heroine asked, the two of them sitting in the cramped rear of a rescue truck. Most of the space was taken up by cut up sheet metal from the near two dozen civilians Wicked Witch's monkeys had trapped in steel by transmuting everything they wore or carried.

"I'd rather get dressed," Valley made an attempt at a joke. "Real clothes I mean, not hospital scrubs."

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital, kid?" the older woman insisted. "Doctors don't bite. Plus it's free; the Hero Union will cover all medical expenses."

"I told you I'm fine," the teenage blonde huffed. "And don't call me kid. You're what, two, maybe three years older than me?" In fact, Valerie noted, she was both taller and older-looking than the crimson-clad woman. Secret identities being what they were, the Crimson Countess might be actually younger - not that people could tell. She'd already forgotten the name Wicked Witch had called her by and it had only been twenty minutes. Helpful as that was for the heroes, she could see why both their detractors and the more rabid fans found it annoying.

"You do know what F.I.N.E. is the acronym of, right?" Seeing the teenager's scowl the Crimson Countess laughed then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I, too, thought I was invincible when I was your age so I won't try to convince you otherwise. And while I'm supposed to tell you nailing Bart in the face was a risk you shouldn't have taken..." her mask twitched, betraying the wide smile beneath. "...it was also awesome. He'd have done worse by the time I got free, so you did good. I now owe you one."

"I did great, didn't I?" Valerie asked tentatively, then looked down at the hospital scrubs she was wearing. Her whistful smile faded quickly. "Is it always like that?" Crimson Countess didn't have to ask what she meant.

"Nah. Nine times out of ten we manage to handle things before there are casualties. Small-time heroes like me? We don't even deal with villains." She sat back and fiddled with a long lock of brown hair, the personal detail suddenly appearing in Valerie's awareness and dragging a few more grudgingly with it. The Crimson Countess had a runner's build with an extra curve or two thrown on to spice things up, proudly displayed by the practically painted-on bodysuit she wore. What could be seen of her skin around her mask was dark brown, her eyes a shade darker. She fit the speedster archetype very well, and Valerie wondered whether it was part of her power or the costume somehow added or concealed things, sheer or not. "...and those with even weaker powers or that just don't like fighting join the P.R.U.. Only big-name heroes have to deal with monsters and villains so we... wait, did you fall asleep?"

"No, sorry... just... too much to deal with, you know?" she told the heroine lamely. Rosie! That's the name Wicked Witch called her by! "Can I go home, now?"

"If you're sure." Rosie looked her up and down critically, then shrugged. "Just make sure to rest, put this behind you. And if you need someone to talk to, change your mind about that hospital visit, or anything else comes up, just text my Hero Union number."

The blonde teenager didn't pay attention to much after that. She was more worried about the only bit of her stuff that had survived that debacle of a museum visit other than her cellphone; the ring on her right index finger.

It was warm...

xxxx xxxx

Back home and after once again reassuring the Crimson Countess she'd take things easy and talk to her parents about what happened, Valerie retreated to her room to dress.

"Pumpkin, are you sure you're OK? The nice hero lady said you got hit by that villain?" Mr Grant asked. A tall, blond, middle-aged guy with a small beer gut like an athlete gone to seed, he was reasonably certain his daughter wasn't telling him everything, but also not particularly worried about it. There was no maiming, wailing, or gnashing of teeth, so he could afford to learn whatever had happened later.

"It was a weird declothing beam, dad, it just turned my clothes into metal," she fibbed. "You know how silly villains can be; the worst of it was the terminal embarassment of having to wear this... thing." She gestured at the hospital scrubs with a grimace of disgust. She was about to flee to her room and change, when the apartment's door flew open and her mother burst in.

"Sweetie what happened!? Were you hurt? The PRU called - there was a villain attack on the museum?" In contrast to her husband, Mrs Grant was not at all calm. Her elaborate French braid had come undone, probably in her haste to return home, and messy brown locks hung loosely around her wide-eyed face. Her normally impeccable grey suit and pencil skirt were ever so slightly wrinkled, a fact that would greatly surprise anyone familiar with her usual no-nonsense character.

"Mom I'm fine! As I just told dad, it was no big deal," Valerie tried to fend off the parental assault before the embarassment could kill her. Why oh why did the Crimson Countess bring her back in patient-wear? She was the fastest person in the city; finding her a change of clothes would have taken all of ten seconds!

"Villain attacks are a big a deal! People die in them, Valley!"

"It was just a guy with flying monkeys," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Can we please, please drop this so I can go take a bath and wear something that isn't made of paper and opens in the back?!"

Honestly, her mom worried too much.

xxxx xxxx

Sports bra, yoga pants, that will do for now, Valerie thought as she dressed after the required hour-long bath. Now what am I going to do with this? She frowned at the innocent-looking band of metal on her finger. It was still warm.

People with powers were relatively new and rare. A few years before, when they'd first appeared, there had been countless attempts to discover the identities of heroes and villains or the source of powers. Many claimed to have found such information, or even to be able to tell who would get powers in the future. Such claims had been unreliable at best, even before Truth's work on secret identities or the Eater of Days' hunts.

The ring had been a present in those early days where so-called 'power detectors' had flooded the market. Valley had never though about it as more than a scam or a toy... until it grew warm on her finger. She was now searching every drawer and box in her room for its old manual.

"There you are," she exclaimed after going through the third stack of old fashion magazines. The thin, white booklet was not one of them but it had been heading to the recycling bin all the same after three years. "Now let's see what 'warmth' means."

Not all attempts to detect powers had been malicious. In fact many of them were about helping heroes rather than any political goal. Because if powers were so varied, their effects so unique, how could heroes know what powers they had and how to use them? If someone could turn into an invulnerable, unstoppable juggernaut by eating pink candy, would that ever come up during their life or would they spend years without knowing what awesome powers pink candy could grant them? Not that Valerie believed Pink Behemoth had told the truth about his origin, but the principle was sound. That strangeness had led to a great many... unusual hero-related gear and occasionally one of them turned up in civilian hands. The ring could well be one of those.

"Warmth... warmth... warmth means info update," she read. "Turn clockwise three times then point at flat, white surface." Feeling rather silly, she did just that. After the three turns the ring glowed blue, and as it was pointed at the wall it lit up and cast an image like some sort of miniature projector;

Name: Valerie Grant Bio: 17-year old female Aspect: undetected ENHANCED ATTRIBUTES ENHANCED SKILLS POWERS Strength 1.01 none detected none detected Durability 1.72