Six men in black motorcycle leathers and red bandanas stalked across the snow-covered alley in pairs, looking for trouble. Two at the front scanned everything in their path as they idly swung baseball bats, daring anyone to challenge them. Two in the middle kept an eye out on the small group's flanks, hands on half-concealed bulks under their trench coats. The two bringing up the rear kept their distance, covering the rest though they had no obvious weapons. Their colors clashing so much with their surroundings was as intentional as their belligerent attitude, a painfully obvious declaration of affiliation and intent.

Chicago had the dubious honor of being considered the most gang-infested city in the United States. Before the advent of powers the city had some sixty factions holding territory with over a hundred thousand active members in total, known gangsters outnumbering the police by as much as ten to one. Despite numerical superiority, the violence of the bad old days and emergence of infamous villains that would openly challenge the law like the first mob bosses was held in check by social development, technological advancement and a more organized state.

In blatant defiance of said 'old order', one of the bandana-wearing thugs kicked a parked car. With a screech of crumbling metal and breaking glass, the damaged vehicle slid across the black ice leaving bits and pieces behind and came to rest in the middle of the street. Lots of passers-by stared warily at that, others turned around and walked away, a few even cheered and took snapshots. Nobody was particularly surprised; compared to the mad first year of the New Age, minor villains were small change.

"This is Red Disciple territory now!" the guy who'd kicked the car shouted. Despite being the apparent leader of the group and looking old enough to be in high school, he must have a bad case of middle-school syndrome because he followed that with throwing torn off bits of car at the nearest storefronts to underscore his point. "We own this place now and -URK!!!"

Fortunately for everyone allergic to inanity, a figure that dropped from a nearby roof landed feet-first on his shoulders, riding him hard to the ground and knocking him out. That did surprise many of the onlookers, the gang members included. Despite all the heroes (and villains) capable of flight, people still didn't expect attacks from above.

"Sorry to interrupt what would have been a clever and thoroughly rehearsed monologue," the blonde heroine snarked, "but I felt like being tough on crime and you got volunteered."

The two middle members of the trench-coat-and-bandana brigade drew their guns as the girl took a step forward, clearing thirty feet and shoulder-checking one of the gunmen like a Rugby pro bowling over a preschooler. Then she backflipped as his partner shot in her general direction, dodging the shots and kicking him in the face on the way down.

"I'm getting the hang of this," Valerie muttered, manhandling one downed guy into another as an afterthought. Then the last guy shot her in the back. "OW!" The guy shot her again. It stung like being pelted with pebbles; annoying but not particularly dangerous. "Cut it out! Do you have any idea how much this costume costs?"

Replacing everything the knight and witch wonder-kids had damaged the week before made her realize one of the realities of superhero costumes; most fabrics simply weren't as tough as a hero could be and didn't self-repair. Was that what Crimson Countess had meant about getting a real costume? When a gunshot put a hole in her top, she grabbed the shooter's gun and crushed it in her palm.

"I told you to cut it out," she growled angrily. Now she'd have to repair the hole and she hated sewing.

"AAAARGH!!!"

"What was that?" She underscored the question by squeezing his hand a bit harder. "Are you promising to give up a life of crime and turn over a new leaf?"

"Fuck! Y-" He was interrupted by a light slap that sent a couple of teeth flying.

Unreliable powers, costume trouble, the whole debacle during her first outing, the subsequent rejection from Chicago's official hero team; Valerie had worked up a lot of frustration over the past few days and the gangs were as good a target as any to work it off. She was about to slap that last thug into submission - one hit knockouts could seriously damage regular people so she'd avoid them - when a blow with quite a bit of power behind it landed on her back and sent her flying.

"Big fucking mistake, bitch," the guy who'd kicked the car into the street said, raising his baseball bat in a threatening position. His durability must have had some level of superhuman recovery for him to get back to his feet so quickly and now he looked really pissed. "Nobody messes with the Red Disciples!"

"I thought it was the Black Disciples?" the blonde asked, referring to one of the more powerful pre-powers gangs.

"Those fucking losers? We crushed them last year," the boy sneered, "and now you're about to join them."

"Did anybody tell you swearing too much devalues swearing itself?" she shot back, keeping her eyes on that bat. "That and it makes you look stupid." She stared at her opponent up and down. "Correction; stupider."

"AARGH!"

With a furious and uninspiring yell the guy charged, using his enhanced strength to swing his bat around rapidly and randomly. Valerie rolled her eyes and hurled the last gun she'd crushed as hard as she could at the guy's face. He flinched but still managed to bat the projectile aside by sheer luck... at which point both it and the bat promptly shattered to bits. Splinters of wood, plastic and metal flew everywhere, some falling into his eyes. Enhanced durability or no, that had to be extremely irritating.

Valley didn't let him get his bearings; she used the time he was cursing and blinking with equal fury to deliver her best kick with her entire body weight behind it. Her leg hit hard enough to feel it a bit, despite her durability exceeding her strength; his knee on the other hand dislocated with a wet crunch and he toppled.

"Had enough?" she quipped, fully expecting him to give up. Him jumping up almost immediately and glomping her was not the response she'd have expected. They both fell into the snow in a tangle of limbs.

What followed was some undignified wrestling and pummeling, everything from kicks to elbows to headbutts exchanged. The blonde heroine was both stronger and tougher, but her opponent would just not stay down. It was like trying to herd an impressively angry ten-pound wildcat that might be a tenth of your mass but made up the difference with sheer ferocity.

She lost count of the number of punches, knees, scratches and locks she was in the receiving end of and was growing rather frustrated with the whole thing - it was really like fighting an eight year old that just kept coming - when the boy tried to bite her! She punched him so hard his nose was flattened and something in his face just cracked, throwing him not just off her but across the street.

Despite bruises far worse than her own, considerable bleeding and what had to be broken bones, the Red Disciples gang member was still trying to get back up. Even as Valerie watched he seemed to be getting a little better; not at the speed of famous regenerators or monsters in bad movies but quickly enough to be noticeable. Given five, ten minutes he might be fully recovered and he didn't seem to feel pain.

Knock-outs wouldn't work. Bindings... she didn't have anything that he couldn't tear through with enhanced strength. Taking him to the nearest police station might do it... but she might also have to give a statement or something; she wasn't sure and she didn't want to lose the whole night for one guy. In retrospect, checking up any laws or regulations for underage heroes that weren't part of official teams should have been done ahead of time.

"Nothing for it, I guess," she muttered, walking up to the struggling thug and kicking him face-down. As he choked on a mouthful of dirty snow after trying to curse her, she took good grip of the totaled car and lifted. The weight was... awkward. Not nearly as much as it should have been, but it still handled like a cardboard box of the same size. Its balance felt off, it groaned and clanged as metal ground on metal at every step and it spit foul-smelling liquid everywhere. Was that oil? Shrugging, she dropped the three thousand pound mass on her opponent, trapping him under its weight. With leverage and a wind-up he might have managed to slide it across ice, but lying awkwardly underneath? It'd take him some time to get free.

"Feeling comfortable down there?" she asked, leaning against a wall to catch her breath. The fight had been... less one-sided than she'd have liked. At least his friends didn't have any powers.

"Fuck you, bimbo," came the muffled reply. "You'll get yours soon!"

Ignoring the customary threats, Valerie went through the past couple of hours again. Finding some gangsters had not been hard, just time-consuming even with her increased mobility. The frustration, the anger, the need to do something had all come to a head when he'd seen the idiot kick the car halfway across the street openly and without even the pretense of cover. Nothing on the news or social media had indicated the gangs had become so bold. Or rather, there were a lot of messages online that sounded like bluster or conspiracy theories... except it hadn't looked like an isolated incident if the locals' reaction was any indication.

Actually cutting loose on bad guys on the other hand had felt... awesome. There was none of the 'crash' post-fight descriptions mentioned in books, none of the bone-deep weariness she'd felt after that brief exchange with the other powered kids. If anything she felt lighter on her feet, her heart was beating in excitement, pumping blood and new energy into her body at the idea of doing it again.

"Say, tough guy," she asked her captive audience, "where can I find more of you guys?"

"More? Heh..." he groaned, grunted, tried to shift the car. It wouldn't budge but that didn't seem to dampen his spirits. "Heh..hehe... hahaha!"

"What's so funny?" she demanded, nonplussed. Mocking laughter was the last thing she expected from a criminal and a boy she'd just beaten and captured.

"You're new, right?" he all but stated. "Like, really, really green?"

"What does this have to do with anything?" Hands on hips - not that he could see them - she was really annoyed now. Bad guys did not laugh at Batman in the comics.

"Just look around you, kitty. Tell me what you see..."

Valerie did her best to ignore the stupid name-calling and really took a look around. Most of the civilians were still there, watching nervously. Some had already left though, and more were hurrying away as he looked. Again, not the expected reaction to a gallant heroine swooping in and saving the day. Wariness, not relief. Cautious retreat, not returning to their homes. No cheers, only silence. It was odd, more what she'd expect... if the danger... was still ongoing.

Brakes screeched, wheels slid against ice and slow, car horns honked furiously and two black vans with dark windows turned around the corner hard and fast enough for their tyres to smoke despite the cold and snow. They came to a stop right next to the totaled car, doors slid open and a dozen young adults came out. Every single one of them wore black leather and a red bandanna.

"Well... crap."