I AM EMPOWERED, pt. 26: The YEAR ONE prose experiment continues! (Patreon)

(UPDATE: Oops, just double-posted due to a screw-up on my part as Patreon's latest redesign flummoxed me; this was supposed to have gone up on Tuesday. So, er... enjoy, a day early?)

You can check out I Am Empowered's previous installment here, or check out the entire archive of this defunct project here.

In case you'd forgotten, or are a semi-recent Patron and haven't had the time nor the inclination to look back though this site's sprawling archive, I Am Empowered was a short-lived prose project in which I tried to flesh out aspects of Emp's story not fully addressed in the comic proper. I wrote Emp's first-person narration in (old) Twitter-based 140-character format, with the time-jumping narrative taking place roughly around the beginning of Empowered vol.1.

We've hit the point in this loose jumble of episodes that no remaining chapter is complete; all the remaining material from this abortive project is a series of fragmentary sketches that wheeze to a halt in an inconclusive manner.

We're down to the final remaining incomplete chapter, which I'll split into two concluding Patreon posts.

DISTRESSING DAMSELHOOD, OR DAMSELING DISTRESSHOOD

<This chapter would've opened with a discussion of "the Unwritten Rules" governing suprahuman interaction, but I never got around to writing that part. These first few lines jump in on the topic of how the Unwritten Rules are enforced, and who's doing the enforcing:>

As far as I can tell, the last example-setting atrocities of Unwritten-Rule enforcement date back to the era before the San Antonio disaster.

Example: The notoriously brutal heat-ray castrations and tentacular dismemberment of the entire Squid Squad took place over seven years ago.

Supposedly, they were ambushed by rival supervillains, but it's an open secret that a vigilante cabal of vengeful superheroines killed them.

Same deal with Waterfoul's gory fate, Sloppy Joe's disappearance, and Cold Shoulder's horrific mutilation: All of 'em predate San Antonio.

I've even heard that Unwritten Rule violations might actually have triggered San Antonio's nightmarish cascade of escalating catastrophes.

Certainly can't confirm that rumor, though, as nobody in superhero circles ever talks about what really went down back then. I mean, NOBODY.

Not to advocate maiming and murdering bad guys—not at all!—but I admit that old-style brutality did seem to work pour encourager les autres.

Or, I suppose, "pour DIScourager les autres", to be more accurate. Okay, fine, "pour décourager les autres", to be more accurate still.

I should admit, before I racked up work experience in this field, that I used to be rather more liberal in my views regarding supervillains.

In Suprahuman Studies, it's long been de rigueur to resist buying into "the demonization of so-called supervillains", as my teachers put it.

We're taught to look askance at the dominant cultural paradigms and biased media stereotypes that label some capes as good, and others bad.

Questioning the simplistically Manichean, black-and-white dichotomy between so-called "superheroes" and "supervillains"? Very basic stuff.

And from my experience, there really IS much truth in my profs' rhetoric about dogmatic ideologies and prejudiced viewpoints. No, srsly!

Okay, some of the alternate terms for bad guys—"antagonism-oriented suprahuman", say—may strike you as wishy-washy, euphemistic PC-speak.

(Even the term "antagonism" is suspect in some Suprahuman Studies circles, as it's perceived to be loaded with ideological presumptions.)

Honestly, though, many if not most of the "bad guys" I've encountered in the line of superduty really aren't all that "bad", as such.

Some see "supervilling" as just another crappy line of work, as a flawed vocational option in a brutal, opportunity-scarce job market.

Others? Forced into the role by sociocultural pressure, desperate financial need, familial obligation, or extortion by other supercriminals.

Few of them consider themselves to be (scare quotes on) "evil" (scare quotes off), despite what media depictions would have you believe.

Many supervillains romantically perceive themselves as "rogue superheroes," rebels who refuse to buy into The Man's corrupt system.

Okay. Time for a Big Sigh, followed by a reluctant, caveat-laden "However."

A handful of bad guys truly ARE implacable monsters who can't be reasoned with, who really do only understand the language of pure force.

Some of them actually are Utterly Fucking Evil, no two ways—or mealy-mouthed, euphemistic handwringing—about it. (Cue my professors' gasps.)

Long ago, Very Bad Apples like these spoiled the whole Bad-Guy Barrel and, arguably, made the Unwritten Rules' sheer brutality necessary.

Bloodsoaked and ugly as the Unwritten-Rule-enforcing atrocities might've been, they've kept generations of sociopathic bad guys in line.

Ah, but here's an additional problem: There are, in my sad experience, things that I'd have to label as "Unwritten Rule borderline calls."

An NBA superstar will always get the benefit of the doubt from the referees, right? An obscure, "who's he?" journeyman player, not so much.

Same thing with superheroines. If some of the degrading crap I've endured had happened to an A-list "capette", there would be hell to pay.

If bad guys ever treated a popular heroine like WetNurse or Angelfish like they treat me, they'd be perceived as Unwritten-Rule violators.

But because I'm a nobody, because I'm a "joke cape", supervillains—and superheroes, too!—feel free to demean me in some VERY dubious ways.

Like the time that jackass Kelp King bound and gagged me with his stupid magic seaweed, leaving me strapped up on tiptoe beside his throne.

You remember the famous—well, infamous—YouTube clip, don’t you? God knows, I fervently wish that I didn't remember it.

I'm struggling futilely as the douchecape blares, "Ha! Guess THIS little superchica won't dare defy the Sargasso Sovereign again, will she?"

Then he leans over, flashes a hugely cheesy grin, and slaps me on the butt, HARD. Cue my humiliating, sheep-like bleat of gagged protest.

The real damage is done, howeva, by the HD camera Kelp King had trained on me, and the tragically memorable post-slap footage it recorded.

How do I put this delicately? There's a lot of me back there, and what's back there isn't as firm or toned—or non-blubbery—as I might like.

Captured on crisp, HD-quality video, the King's slap sends a wave of flesh rippling across my big, soft behind, then rippling right on back.

The 8-second clip that douchecape uploads to YouTube 10 minutes later—speech, slap, "Mmph!", jiggle, jiggle, jiggle—gets 1.2 million views.

(Later on, I make the rookie mistake of glancing at the clip's YouTube comments. Afterward, I'm unable to get out of bed for two full days.)

[END Part 1]

Wellp, that's the first half of this incomplete chapter, folks. The long-defunct I Am Empowered experiment has one final fragmentary segment remaining, which I'll post here later in July, okay?

NEXT TIME ON THIS HERE PATREON: No idea, to be perfectly frank, but I am rolling with a full workweek of posts to wrap up June, so you should see something tomorrow (er, depending on your Patron tier, that is).

UPDATE: Ehh, in fact tomorrow's post will almost certainly be another Distressed Damsels "Rose & Lily" installment for the $5+ tiers. I'd planned to post said content this morning, but just lost quite a bit of time trying to navigate Patreon's latest annoying revision. (As in, "Where the f**k did you guys hide the Draft Posts menu this time?" In fact, I still haven't figured out how to navigate to Scheduled or Draft Posts; I'm having to use a link in a g-d FAQ to get there, as they've inexplicably eliminated the previous routes I once used. Nice!)