Pastafarians and Wasps


Morgan Drakewing looks at the dispatch as the two stand in the lobby. "Well, from what I can tell, they're holding hostages and waiting for the city to give into their demands to release their leader, notorious cannibal Jumpy Gabbliani. They seem to be getting antsy. It's already been 12 hours." He puts the paper down. "Sounds like a job for a heroine."

Red Hornette blinks her wide grey eyes. "I mean I'm just a cheerleader really." She smiles, but her heart is pumping fast. Perhaps this is her chance to get the Danger Dolls to notice her. If they go forward with the show Empire iDoll she wants to be on it. "Like which building did you say they were in?"

Morgan Drakewing hands her the dispatch. "The building across the street. Twenty-fifth floor of the Bachelor Building. Your call on how you get up." He folds his arms. "Anything extra you need? Rope? Bombs?"

Red Hornette lofts her blond brows. "Err... I mean like are you my Agent Q or something...?" She bites her lip as she goes to look out the window, seemingly pondering her approach. "Do we know how many hostages?" She takes a deep breath, making the hornet emblem over her heart almost seem to come to life.

"I guess you can call me that, if you want. Susan said I better make sure you were properly prepared after all." Drakewing shrugs, walking with her. "I don't know how many hostages now. They released a few two hours ago. All of the men, none of the women. Maybe...twenty of them scattered about. Map is on the back of the paper."

Red Hornette glances down at the paper and then back up to the building. "Susan? MacDuff? Do you mean this is like some sort of Danger Doll audition or something? Wow! Or is it real?" She looks around over her shoulder. "Do you have a rope I can use to get to the top of the Bachelor Building, Mister Drakething?"

"Drakewing, honey. It's Drakewing. Better yet, just call me Morgan." He takes a grapnel gun from his side pouch, handing it to Hornette. "You just aim for free corner, wait for it to latch, then zip up. As for whether this is real or not, I'm not allowed to divulge that information, sadly."

Red Hornette checks her gloves to make sure her tasers are fully charged and her mace supply topped out. "Thank you, Mister Drakething... I mean wing!" She grins as she takes the grapnel gun with a nod. "I see." She frowns a bit, but heads out the door to make her assault.

Morgan Drakewing watches and waves to the girl as she makes her way through a back alley into one of the service entrances. The police had shut down all power to the building, so the only illumination was the lazy sun shining through the clouds. There in front was one of the opened elevators.

Red Hornette slips inside the Bachelor Building through an unlocked service door after realizing that she would probably be spotted going up the outside of the building. Luck seems to be with her as the doors to the elevator were frozen open when the power was turned off. She easily pops out the service panel in the roof of the elevator car and climbs up. She fires the grapnel gun and begins to climb.

The grapnel goes ziiiiiip, clank, the magnetized hook catching easily on the metal on the side of the shaft as she lurches up three floors at a time. Not exactly the most silent approach, but in this case, time seemed to be of the essence. It took a good ten minutes for her to finally reach the twenty-fifth floor.

Red Hornette sighs as the sound of the zipline announces her approach and she realizes she might as well have gone up the outside of the buildling. "I mean I like ask for a rope and I get hung out to dry..." By the time the time the line's harness reaches the twenty-fifth floor it is empty. A figure in red and black now quietly stalks her way up the dark shadows of the stairwell from the twenty-fourth floor.

That certainly looks like one of the terrorists alright. Red bandana about his face, black hoodie pulled over his head, snow goggles, and...that looks like an AK he's holding there casually in his hands...can't be good.

Red Hornette sees the terrorist guard up above just in time and ducks back. Apparently the noise of the grappling line had not been enough to draw them all to the elevator shaft. She concentrates on controlling her breathing as it dawns on her that these men are all armed with automatic weapons. She has to try to take them one by one with stealth. But how? She retreats and finds her way into the ductwork.

Sliding into the duct was rather easy. Just a duck into the office, pull away the metal grate and filter, and slide right in. The dust had built up though, what with it being an old building and all. Crawling, crawling, she starts her slow way up, up, up...

Red Hornette soon finds the maintenance duct with a ladder up and takes it, grey eyes wide behind the grate on the twenty-fifth floor as she peers out to see if the coast is clear or what she might be up against.

The view seems rather clear. There were three guards patrolling the halls mindlessly, lightly armed with the AKs. He could see a fourth one near the water cooler, kerchief pulled from his face, taking an idle smoke break. No sign of the others...or the hostages for that matter.

Red Hornette makes her way through the ducts to a closed office, letting herself out there. She makes a face at the dust that has collected on her sweater and form-fitting black leggings. The water cooler should be just outside the office door. She pushes it slowly open, prepared to dart out and taser the smoker from behind, and if successful, drag him back into the office.

The guard's cigarette falls out of his mouth as he gives a strangled cry, yanked back into the empty room, curled into a ball, shaken, out of the fight. One down, eleven to go. She peeks out the door again. Seems like the patrol didn't spot anything...now to plan the next move.

Red Hornette binds the man with his own bootlaces and moves back to the hall, slipping from doorway to doorway like a silhouette, wandering where the hostages are as she presses back to the corner of a hall, waiting for a patrolling guard to pass so she can taser him from behind as well.

It was not too hard to navigate. Looked like a simple blue-collar cubicle maze to her with side offices and meeting rooms and copy machines and...wait...she did hear something like whimpering and crying. The hostages, maybe? The second guard goes down just as fast as the first, but now Red had to worry about getting this one out of sight too.

Red Hornette deposits the hooded Pastafarian in the nearest cubicle before returning to the maze to stalk the next while trying to get a bead on that whimpering. "Two down, ten to go," she whispers to herself.

One of the guard stops in his tracks as he hears the whisper, turning, seeing nothing. Adjusting his goggles, he slowly starts to approach Red's position, the safety of his AK flipped off, sweeping the thin passageway.

Red Hornette gulps as she flattens herself to a cubicle wall, hoping the approaching man with the gun can't hear the pounding of her heart, deafening as it seems to her. She knows she must move really quickly when he gets within reach if she is to strike with the sting of her taser glove before he cries out.

Closer...then slightly past Red...the guard glances around, then across the room, at the water cooler. Stepping quickly, he kneels down, picking up the freshly lit cigarette left by his compatriot. He stands, looking around, confused.

Red Hornette apparently misses her chance as the guard moves past and away. She flips over a partition and slinks along in a crouch, pursuing the guard. She looks around an open corner and ducks back as the man holding the burning cigarette looks about. "Well crap..." She takes a quick step up on the chair and a second on the desk and goes flying head first over the partition, taser gloves extended before her.

The guard turns, eyes bulging with surprise as he sees the cheerleader vault right at him, bringing his AK instinctively up to guard his body, trying to cross-check her as the momentum slams him into the cooler, water squirting all over the place. He starts to scream. “ALERT! ALEEEERRT!”

Red Hornette ducks a shoulder and rolls as she hits the floor, her gloves having failed to touch the amn and deliver their charge. He is screaming as she comes to her feet. All she can do is charge into the spray of water and shoot mace at his face before reaching for the gun, hoping to wrest it away from him while stunned by the mace.

Having the goggles helps to protect the guard from the sting of the mace, but it does fog them up significantly, robbing him of a crucial second of focus as the gun is pulled from his grasp, finger on the trigger squeezes off a few rounds into the ceiling, dumping plaster on the two.

Red Hornette gasps, hearing the gun fire as she yanks it away from the terrorist, swinging the stock up under his chin in an effort to knock him out just as the plaster takes care of that for her. Unfortunately she too is KOed, AK slipping from her gloved hand, crumpling to the floor, sprawling out in wet sweater and tight black leggings.

The guard was quite disoriented, getting on hands and knees, crawling over, taking off his goggles, blinking at his foe. Training certainly hasn't prepared him for this. Just as his friend and several others round the bend, product of the noise, they too look surprised, surrounding Red.

Red Hornette lies there on the floor like a poster child for "epic fail" as broken water cooler continues to spray her, drenching sweater to the point that it molds obscenely to her shape, a cold nipple poking up under the stinger of the hornet emblem over her heart. Her lids flutter as the cold water quickly begins to bring her around. Hornette groans, blinking as she sees the terrorists staring down at her and recalls her peril. A taser glove is thrust out at the forest of ankles. It falls short of its target as upon activation the water conducts the charge back to the heroine who begins to convulse, limbs flopping, grey eyes bulging, for several seconds before she slumps and doesn't move.

The group backs away as Red lashes out, then seem to watch in bemusement as her weapons malfunction and leave her on the floor gasping. One kneels down, checking for a pulse. You know...just in case. Yep. Just stunned. Four of the group each take her up by the wrists and the ankles, shuffling her off down the narrow hallways, weaving and guiding her back and forth through the maze.

Red Hornette is essentially paralyzed for the moment, her twitching misfiring muscles unable to do anything about being touched or lifted up and carried away spread eagle through the maze, having become one of the hostages she sought to save.

She is carried into one of the bigger conference rooms, heaved like dead weight onto the table, still spread out and wet. A gloved hand grips the bottom of Red's wet sweater, pulling it off her body as the others circle around, weapons still at the ready.

Red Hornette plops down with a splat, unable to do much more than groan as her sweater is ripped from her body, revealing modest but pert breasts that jiggle tightly from the exiting of the sweater.

The sweater is passed around, each looking at the symbol of the hornet, then they look down to Red's half-soaked outfit, seeing a bigger picture of the insect. They seem to talk amongst themselves excitedly until one of them sees the girl stir.

Red Hornette tries to rise up and falls back, her usual costume's top molded obscenely to her chest. She rolls sideways off the table, careening awkwardly off a chair and trying to roll under the big table, still struggling to control her own moments, the excruciating effort causing tears to stream down her cheeks.

The girl makes her way half-way under some of the chairs as she is suddenly grabbed by her ankles again, yanked out, the friction from the rug painful as Red is hurried to a standing positions, hands held behind her back, weapons trained at her.

Red Hornette grimaces and shakes her head as she is dragged to her feet, nipples on fire from the friction with the carpet, shoulders threatening to pop from the pressure on her arms, grey eyes focusing on the guns trained on her bare bellybutton, still too dazed to realize they wouldn't fire with some of their number holding her arms behind. "Ungh... wha... I mean... are you... argh..."

The gunmen turn to each other, speaking a language Red couldn't understand. It sounded Spanish, though, and they keep whispering Vespa Vespa as if it meant something. The guns slowly lowered as her wrists were bound behind her with duct tape, the malfunctioning taser gloves slipped off her hands.

Red Hornette watches with a pained look as her gloves are removed from her hands, leaving her without her only weapons. She looks down as her hands are bound, waiting to see what they will do with her, realizing that maybe she isn't cut out to be a superheroine after all.

The group splits apart as the leader steps into the room. Jungle fatigues, red bandana around his neck, thick mustache...more like a sinister Burt Reynolds-type face and build. He approaches Red, pinching her cheek with thick fingers, turning her face slowly...slowly...

Red Hornette pouts, her lower lip curling out as her cheek is pinched and her face examined. A single tear runs down her already streaked face as her worried eyes look into his. "Like who are you people... and what do you want?"

Burt gives a sneer, looking back to his subordinates, barking to the stunned guard. A back and forth conversation ensues, the leader tracing his hand down to the hornet on her uniform, thumb tracing the stitching as the lackey defends himself from some sort of accusation...

Red Hornette instinctively tries to pull away from the groping hand, her face contorted in dismay. She shakes her head, unable to make any sense of the apparent argument among the terrorists.

The argument ends as quickly as it began, Burt sneering and waving the guard away as the others treat his bruises. He then looks back to Red, speaking in accented English. "We are Pastafaristani, here at the behest of our glorious leader and striking back at the vulgar system of government who has imprisioned him."

Red Hornette just blurts out without thinking, "Jumpy Gabbliani is nothing but a murderous nutjob... a common crook... a lowlife scoundrel... err... I mean... I'm sure you people have your issues..."

The leader narrows his eyes dangerously. “We certainly do. Who gave you permission to wear the sacred Vespa Rojas on your person?” The heroine could now see clearly on each bandana of the Pastafaristanians, there was the symbol of a wasp. Not the same as a hornet, but it was hard to tell from first glance.

Red Hornette gulps. "Err... I..." She tries to steel her gaze to meet that of the terrorist leader. "I am like an anointed agent of the inner circle of Red Wasps... I mean it is my duty to stop those who would besmirch the faith with blasphemy or violence... remember the first commandment... Like always use your noodle!"

The grunts start to whisper with each other again, but they are silenced when Burt turns again. He then lifts Red up by the throat, her toes the only thing touching the ground as he keeps fingering the hornet. “Are you really? I do not recall any slip of a girl being worthy enough to enter the inner circle...”

Red Hornette can do little more than gurk as she is choked by the lifting grip and the toes of flailing feet fight to find the floor. Fearing he may choke her out or break her neck she high kicks, aiming to bring a crosstrainer right up under his chin. "Urk... dare... ooh... finger... duh sacred... Vespuh!"

The kick only seems to anger the leader, chokeslamming her back onto the table. “I will dare do more than finger you, disrespectful puta.” He snaps his fingers, and one of his subordinates brings out a mean-looking machete, which Burt grips with relish.

Red Hornette flails in the air and oophs as she impacts the hard table, seeing stars circling as she gasps to retrieve the air driven out of her, her chest heaving as watery eyes try to focus on the machete.

The general let his hand slide along her neck, gripping it through her halter as he lets the machete slide under the halter, between her breast, yanking, slicing the top in two, gazing at her revealed bosoms.

Red Hornette gasps, inadvertently causing her pert breasts to roll about tightly, reddish brown nipples pointing at the ceiling even as cold sweat beads up on those smooth slopes of revealed flesh. Grey eyes widen with new focus. "Hey! I mean... what do you think you're doing!"

The machete blade is drawn along her neck, sliding himself down, forcing himself between her legs, straining to gaze at her firm bosoms. “Your hubris is worthy of death, but I believe if you show proper respect, maybe we shall spare your life in exchange for the hostages...”

Red Hornette gulps as the keen edge that just exposed her chest is drawn ominously along her neck. She bites her lip, blinking at his words. "My what?" She realizes the hostages are her first priority. "I mean... I'll do whatever you say... if you release the hostages... and stuff!"

The soldiers draw more about Red's exposed form, making her just skitter and roll even more along the table, this commander really creeping her out as the hand draws from her neck, and gripping the waist of her leggings. “Anything?”

Red Hornette instinctively tries to inch away on her back, awkwardly arched over bound hands. The reaction to the sensation of the hem of her leggings sliding down creates a seemingly involuntary response, one leg snapping up to knock the gripping hand away even as she tries to roll off the table. "No way!"

Her shoulders are gripped, slammed down by the subordinates, the machete slowly tracing along her stomach, starting to cut at the front of her leggings. The anger, the hostility...the lust...it just made her want to...want to...scream...

Red Hornette does indeed scream in the shrill excited way only a cheerleader seeing a friend or watching a terrifying horror movie can, but in Red's case the sound was literally enough to peel paint, shatter glass or make ears bleed in her immediate vicinity. "AaaiyeeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEEE!!"

The results are quite immediate. The Pastafaristanis clutched at their ears, wincing, stepping back in shock. The captain, startled, dropped his machete between Red's thighs, eardrums ringing, staggering backwards in abject horror.

Red Hornette blinks as the grip on her shoulders is released and men stagger back, staring at the dropped machete for several seconds before it dawns that all this was a result of screams. Hornette in a flash draws her legs toward her, catching machete between crosstrainers, rolling to her front, nipples finding surface of the table cold even as she demonstrates her flexibility by sawing at the bindings on her wrists.

The machete makes short work of the tape that holds her wrists together, as the soldiers slowly recover, blinking and looking rather irritated, fumbling for their rifles as their commander grips the doorframe, looking like he has seen a ghost. He starts to yell in Spanish, directing his underlings to attack.

Red Hornette clenches the machete fiercely in hand as she stands atop the table, nipples pointing and grey eyes narrowed like gun barrels. She flips into action, aiming to behead on poor Pastafarian as she lands on the floor.

The metal flashes, and soon one of the terrorists falls a head shorter, the noggin flying into a face of a comrade, who starts to fire his gun wildly, pocking the table with bullet holes and cutting down two of the others in the process.

Red Hornette proves herself a perpetual motion machine as the bullets begin to fly, boobies jiggling tightly as she somersaults into the middle of three more terrorists. She snap kicks a gun out of the hands of one, wheels into a roundhouse kick at another and thrusts the machete into the gut of the third.

It was hard to see what was more mesmerizing: the speed and grace Red displayed in this dance of death, or the fact that her breasts jiggled and bounced in rhythmic time as one foe is disarmed, the other spun backwards into the wall and the third stabbed, gurgling under his bandana as his eyes stared widely at her perfect chest.

Red Hornette is not the experienced sort of heroine who can keep track of too many foes at one time, but she does glance over her shoulder in the direction the leader of the extremists went, cartwheeling after him in a flare of legs and ass encased in skin-tight black.

The mustachioed foe was already making a rather hasty exit as the three remaining (and alive) henchmen barred Red inside the room, one with rifle, two drawing knives from their boots, quaking in desperation.

Red Hornette knows enough to go after the man with the gun first, black leggings pulling tight on the shape of flexing ass and digging into cleft off squeezed pout as she cresent kicks one way and then the other, aiming to knockout the henchmen with the rifle before he could use it.

The gunman, who had been the sentry who caught her earlier, has to weave and duck as the kicks kept coming, marveling quietly at the girl's agility, swinging the butt of his rifle right at Red's chin.

Red Hornette has her head snapped back and her stout little body follows, landing on its back with a grunt, limbs splaying outward. Her fingers find the leg of a chair. The fingers grip, biceps flex, and she throws it at the gunman.

Bringing the AK in front of his body, the chair staggers him back as his comrades launch forward with their knives, their jabs and slashes marking and ripping parts of her leggings as she struggles to get to her feet and back into fighting stance.

Red Hornette spins and leg sweeps as she does something like a Thomas Flair across the floor, kicking at the hands of the men with the knives. She yelps as she is cut on her right thigh and the opposite knee.

The goons growl, gripping their knives, trying to bring them down at the same time, parried by her crosstrainers, then kicked away. The gunman struggles to get the chair untangled from his rifle in the meantime.

Red Hornette bounces to her feet, glistening with sweat in the dim light as she runs forward, aiming to smash the chair and kick the gun into her hands with a leaping one two combination of snap kicks.

The soldiers watch as it seems to go into slow motion, the chair flying away, and the rifle landing in the heroine's hands, leveled at the villains, who as one man raise their hands in surrender.

Red Hornette nods to the terrorists who seem as mesmerized by still oscillating boobies as anything. She scowls and gestures with the gun. "Smart move... I mean move it... and where are the hostages?"

The whimpering guards point to the hallway, speaking all at once, but apparently indicating one of the bigger offices off to the side of the conference room.

Red Hornette nods to the three captives who nod back in rhythm to the bouncing of her breasts. "I mean it's taking them long enough, but I hear the police coming up the stairwell... surrender to them!"

The three whimper and comply, parting the way as Red stepped past them, darting down the hallway towards the office. The five secretaries were huddled together, bound and gagged, kneeling on the floor, shaking and crying.

Red Hornette looks all around but does not see the leader of the kidnappers. She has to hope the police caught him as he tried to escape. She is just thankful the hostages are okay. She sets the rifle on a desktop and begins to untie them. "Don't worry... I mean everything is going to be just fine!"

The hostages seem thankful enough, but it does seem they show signs of a bit of trauma as well, as they unsteadily get to their feet, rubbing their wrists and ankles, the footsteps in the hall growing louder as it seems the earlier ruckus has brought the SWAT team off its ass.

Red Hornette nods as one of the SWAT team drapes a jacket about her shoulders and says, "Charlie wants to talk to you, Red." She grins as the SWAT commander leads her out of the building a moment later to the flash of cameras and forest of microphones from all the city's major media outlets. "It looks like Detective Chan may have to wait until after my interviews..."

(Dec 2010)