The Gastacular Burpstorm - Chapter 2 (Commission) (Patreon)

“You’re late!”

Martha Rodriguez had crept through the back door hoping her boss wouldn’t notice. Despite being a superhero, she somehow couldn’t sneak past him. She grimaced as she began taking off her coat. Roger, her boss, stepped out of the bathroom into the narrow hall. He was a much older man who was often sour about where he ended up in life – managing a seedy tavern. The Old Time Tavern was a staple of the city for both old and young folk alike. But it has seen better days, with its rundown wooden booths and creaky stools. Over the fifty years of its existence, the Old Time Tavern has had millions of people scribble on the tables and the walls.

“Bar’s been empty for FIVE minutes, get out there!” Roger yelled, jerking a finger down the hall.

Martha already had her bartender outfit ready, an all-black blouse with tight dress pants. Her stomach was noticeably visible. Despite his age, Roger never once gave her shit for the way she dressed or showed off her stomach. Of course, she would get both disparaging and lewd comments from the customers. Roger could be a dick but he was no misogynist. He was too down on his luck to target anyone.

Friday night crowd – typically crowded with a constant roar of voices that made it hard to hear anyone a foot in front of you. Martha got to work right away mixing drinks. Sure, there were a thousand better jobs out there, but something about being able to deftly service complex drinks in seconds calmed her down. She secretly enjoyed this dirty, grubby place. It had a charm to it. She also felt like the mother to many women out there whom she had to protect, like that one girl outside the bar moments ago…

Hope she’s alright, Martha thought, zoning out as she looked for a copper mug to make a Moscow Mule. She would have thought that some five years of being the city’s lone superhero was enough to make her jaded to these things. It didn’t. She still often thought about the lives of those she saved. There was that one terrible shooting at the mall a couple years back. Some racist pricks had been angry that the city was becoming “too diverse” and wanted to shoot anyone who had a tint of brown. The two men shot five people already before Martha got there as they were about to shoot up an Indian family eating at the food court. She still thought about the terrified look on the young daughter’s face – no more than ten really. That was three years ago. She still randomly thought of them, if they were able to get past their trauma or got up and left town.

Times like those she wished she also had super speed or flying. Instead, she got around in a dented red Chevy Aveo with more mileage than she liked to acknowledge. Not exactly the Batmobile.

Martha’s unorthodox superpower appeared out of nowhere. Well, it came from the vending machine in the subway station one day heading to work. She was late and missed her train. Distraught, she went over to the vending machine for an old-fashioned Coke. Instead what she got was a weird green labeled can with the word “RUMBLE” on it. It reminded her of those wacky 90’s soft drinks that people forgot about, like Surge.

Whatever. A soda was a soda.

She had it on the way to work and then never felt the same way again…

First off, she had to leave work early because she suddenly couldn’t stop vomiting. Roger shrugged it off as “her time of the month” (okay maybe he was a bit misogynist) but then actually showed concern when she clogged the toilet of vomit.

“Errrr. Maybe you should go home,” he said, grimacing at the toilet.

Martha went straight to bed with the shivers. She didn’t understand what was going on with her. It was May, far from flu season. A stomach bug maybe? She barely had money to splurge so it wasn’t like she was gorging on fast food or fancy dinners.

She wracked her head for what could have happened.

What the hell’s going on with me? Is this an allergic reaction? But I’m not even lactose intolerant! Am I having a heart attack? Is this some abnormal period?

The next morning – the mysterious illness stopped. She woke up and felt a little lightheaded from skipping dinner. She was quite ravenous so she whipped up eggs, bacon, and toast with some sausage.

After finishing her breakfast, she suddenly felt a large swelling in her stomach. She could have been mistaken for being pregnant – that’s how swollen she had become. She cried out panicking – especially since the discomfort was increasing. She stopped crying out when a large air bubble traveled up her throat – so large that she nearly choked on it! And then---

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The belch shattered her window. It blew off the contents of her kitchen table and anything on the wall that she was facing. She even suffered a recoil and fell flat on her back.

Apart from the amazing relief, Martha gawked at the damage she caused to her apartment.

“Fuck. The super isn’t going to believe this…”

Now…Martha wasn’t exactly a stranger to belches. In fact, Martha always burped even as a kid – it was a weird habit that her parents scolded her for and her teachers complained about. Martha herself didn’t quite understand her thought process as a kid – that was some twenty-five years ago. She remembered feeling like she had no control over it and that she had to keep burping.

Her pediatrician wondered if she was “on the spectrum”. Sometimes kids on the spectrum had ticks or habits, like skin pricking, nail biting, rocking back and forth, twitching an eye, and – yes in some cases just burping frequently. Martha did grow up with a lack of manners. Whenever someone told her to excuse herself or to do it in the bathroom her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and frustration. She always wanted people to leave her alone and let her burp in peace. Still, there was no real “explanation” to it. No traumatic backstory or trigger. Just a normal burpy girl.

With time came skill. Martha became known as the friend who could burp her ABCs and burp-talk. She snorted with laughter afterwards. This undoubtedly took a toll on her love life. Men were grossed out by her. They’d take her out to eat and she would unabashedly belch in public, whether it be a burger joint or a five-star restaurant. She would start warning her prospective suitors right away. “Hey, soooo I burp a lot, just a warning.” Or “I can’t often control my burping by the way.” And they would nod and laugh and say it wasn’t a big deal. They all said otherwise when she actually let it rip during a movie theater, or in a café, or just on the sidewalk. Men always promised things would be okay and then do a double-take and say, “Actually…”

To seemingly piss those guys off, she practiced drawing in air and belching on command. She became better at it – drawing out extremely long belches that were about a minute-long.

So, after that bizarre window-shattering burp, Martha chalked it up to a one-time thing – a freak accident that had little to no explanation, much like her ancient burping habit. Maybe she unlocked a new skill that no burper had ever done before. Maybe this was the equivalent to an opera singer cracking a glass.

That of course didn’t end up being the case at all.

That same day Martha left for work and was in a funk. She still felt a little weird, like her body was brimming with energy but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Something kept trying to settle in her stomach. On her way to the subway, a well-dressed man started hitting on her.

“Nice skirt!” he called out as she walked by.

Oh God, I don’t have time for this.

She turned around to tell him off but instead nearly keeled over from a sudden pain in her stomach. Embarrassed, she swerved back to the way she was headed and covered her mouth. Something felt terribly, terribly wrong. With every breath she took, she added more and more air to her stomach. No matter – she would just burp it out like she always did. But her throat gurgled uncomfortably when she tried to burp. Nothing came out. And nothing was more uncomfortable than a burp that was stuck. Truly a major inconvenience. It would only feel worse as the minutes went on.

The creep followed her into the subway station, saying something or another about giving him a chance over coffee, and something about being a man of culture appreciative of fashion and style. Martha was feeling sicker by the second, more nauseous, and this annoying prick wasn’t making her feel any better. She could hardly speak to him at that point because she felt so winded and so uncomfortable. Her throat gurgled like it had a mind of its own. She thought she was going to throw up. She took the first subway train she saw, not caring anymore where it took her as long as the creep stopped following her.

The subway cart was empty. She sat down and felt mildly relieved when the subway started moving. But then she widened her eyes at the sight of the creep walking up to her grinning. He had just managed to slip through the doors at the last second.

Crap! I can’t catch a break from this guy!

“Almost didn’t make it! It must be a sign!” he said.

For fuck’s sake, go away!

Martha wanted to leave but another surge of pain course through her stomach and now welled up in her chest as well. Her entire torso was in pain, and she gasped at the sight of her stomach having become so bloated that the button on the side of her skirt popped off and the zipper came undone. This dreadful feeling washed over her, telling her that she was in absolutely no control of her own body. The man was completely oblivious about her current state of being.

The rumbling in her chest started to loosen. Martha’s instinct was to sit up, else it would hurt really bad. The belch that came out of her mouth made her recoil. She saw actual ripples in the air form as she emitted the most sickening, bassiest belch of her entire life. She thought she was going to die there and then, as the force of the belch felt like it was drawing her lifeforce from within.

The most impossible thing happened – the belch was powerful enough to send the creep flying across the subway cart. He yelped. The subway cart actually creaked under the force of the soundwaves.

“---UUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!”

When it was all over, Martha sat up straight. Her hair had become disheveled. She ran a hand through it to try and keep it kempt, then checked herself to make sure she was still intact.

She had to admit, she felt infinitely better, like a brand-new woman. Her stomach and chest were at ease and her throat stopped gurgling. Her stomach was in fact back to its normal size, and she patted it wondering if it would react again. Blushing, she zipped up her skirt and hid the broken button underneath her blouse.

On the other side of the cart, the man moaned and rolled around. He cupped both ears.

Martha winced as she approached him slowly to make sure he wasn’t dead or dying. Some blood was running from one of his eardrums.

“Ah, shit, uh. Oh god.”

She dropped him a tissue and dashed off at the next stop.

And since then, Martha’s burps have never been the same. She practiced her burping to control how much power to inflict on people. She had to make drastic lifestyle changes to prevent any accidents. This meant taking out any carbonated drink from her diet. That proved to be difficult for her. She couldn’t imagine a couple days without a good Coke, and being a bartender soured her mood because so many good drinks out there were carbonated. Moscow Mules, Rum and Cokes, Gin and Tonics, Mimosas – oh god not the Mimosas.

Every burp was potentially destructive, either to her own apartment or others around her. She didn’t want to take the risk with that.

Making her outfit wasn’t so much a pain as it was figuring the design. As a woman, Martha had seen and heard so many discussions about how female superheroes look compared to male superheroes. Everything was skintight or scantily clad – which wasn’t innately a bad thing. Martha liked to wear a sexy tight outfit to the club. The question was how people would see her and treat her while she went around town. She wasn’t going to go out fighting crime in a skirt now, was she?

Eh. If I’m feeling randy enough that’d be hot…WOW, Martha, what are you saying?

Then again, she shouldn’t feel restricted to how she wanted to look based on how others would react.

What if I could fight in a sundress? That’d be cool…AND sexy at the same time. But then I would need a winter variation. Fuck it. I’ll just go with my gut.

She drew her first version of a red one-piece costume with a cape. She quickly realized there would be a problem – drawing in air bloated her up like a pufferfish. She would get really uncomfortable really quickly. So, as a solution, she separated her costume into two pieces. With her midsection bare, she wore long red tights and a red top with sleeves. Those silly basic superhero masks wouldn’t do squat to protect her identity. What about something more…interesting? What about a masquerade mask? Something a bit fancy and distracting.

Yes! A mix of class and crass!

Her debut fight into crime fighting featured her fending off a gang of thieves trying to steal from a guy in a parking garage. Martha had just finished shopping and heard heightened voices echoing. She followed them and found five men ganging kicking another, trying to get his keys to steal his car.

Martha had stuffed her outfit in her large purse, quick-changing behind a support column. When she came out, the gang stopped to laugh at her.

“Are you going to comic con?”

Martha hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. She always imagined being epic with a witty one-liner. All she could do was draw a blank.

One of the thieves drew a gun on her. She sucked in air and belched, blowing them all away, scattering them across the parking lot. Three of them banged against other cars and a loud cacophony of car alarms blared.

Martha stood with her hands on her hips, proud of herself.

The innocent victim had been cowering underneath his car. He poked his head out when the coast was clear.

“See ya around!” she said, saluting him.

Later the next day, she was on the local news. They interviewed the guy and he was speechless on camera with wide eyes, saying how loud Martha burped. Frazzled, he said she “burped up a storm” that blew the thieves away.

And thus, the Gastacular Burpstorm was born!

Almost.

That fall season, Martha discovered her first weakness – colds. When she was sick, she couldn’t rely on drawing in air all the time, else she would start a coughing fit. That nearly cost an innocent bystander’s life when she almost couldn’t stop another attempted carjacking.

Martha found a way to compromise her strict diet of no carbonated drinks. She would only drink on the job. Funny how that sounded. While Batman’s utility belt held all manners of grappling hooks, smoke bombs, and other gadgets, Burpstorm’s utility belt only consisted of one thing – soda. Coke bottles lined up her waist, and she readied her hands over them like guns. Sometimes she wanted to drink them just for fun. A soda-fueled belch was always more powerful than an air-fueled belch, and, in a strange way she found it secretly arousing to feel relieved afterwards, like taking a big dump.

I’m so fucking weird.

Everyone at some point has thought that in their life. Martha was so sure that she was an exception. As she developed her dual-role as superhero and bartender, she realized she had to hide her true self into her superhero personae. The girl who was known in her friend group to be the burpiest suddenly “grew up” and stopped burping in front of them. They all sighed with relief and muttered, “Thank God”. When her mother brought up the fact that she no longer burped the ABC’s, Martha cringed as she said, “Well, you know, that was childish of me.” And cringed harder when her mother nodded and said, “Indeed it was.”

Maybe this was a bad idea. Five years was a long time that sped by. Martha came to love her home so much that it cost her a future, in a sense. Working the bar had cost her four years at an expensive Ivy League School for finance. But working in places like The Old Time Tavern was the only way she would be aware of the more unsavory parts of the city. There, she caught tips about abusive boyfriends and husbands, drug cartels, and that one time she stopped a human trafficking ring. She didn’t want to sit behind a desk all day punching numbers. Not when this was all possible.

And yet it also killed a part of her personality, this “dual-role” of a lifetime.

#

“Martha? MARTHA!”

Martha jumped. She had been zoning out after pouring a customer a glass of Blue Moon. Roger was at the other end of the bar. He motioned wildly with his hands. “The hell you doing? I don’t pay you to stand there. People are complaining!”

Martha snapped out of it. She apologized to the customer waiting for the Blue Moon and went on with the night.

She looked across the sea of hands trying to get her to make a drink. She picked one of them, and froze in place because she instantly recalled the face of the first guy she saved.