In The Swing of Things
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Captain Mica’s promotion was new, and like some new things, it felt weird. In her civilian life she had rarely been in a position of power unless she was wrist-deep in someone’s life blood, but such was not the case of the Negaverse. Despite her brief period of service, she had already obtained a level of respect that she had never had in her civilian life. It was… nice.

Mica had spent the last couple of nights trying to get used to her new rank. The uniform was perhaps the biggest change. Her outfit now included shiny, dangly bracelets and anklets, and while pretty they were impractical, so she ripped them off when she powered up. Of course, they just reappeared the next time, but she tried. She could think of at least one Senshi that could use metal to their advantage.

Speaking of metal, Mica’s pimp cane was a thing of the past, replaced by a metal spear tipped with a pointy incarnation of the Amber Crystal. She was grateful that she had a weapon less likely to splinter, and pleased to have something to stab Senshi with, but it was metal, which meant that scantily-clad dark-skinned Senshi could be a problem. Mica had no desire to ever have to explain how she lost the Amber Crystal because some white-haired b***h had magicked it out of her hands. No, so she’d just have to figure out how to prevent that from happening.

Meanwhile, Mica had been playing with some of the more obvious perks of being a Captain. She discovered that she could collect more energy in a couple of hours then she used to in a whole night. Guns and knives still made for unpleasant encounters, but her increased speed and agility diminished their threat somewhat, especially since they were usually wielded by the less-then-competent. And on a less serious note, Mica was quite fond of her uniform’s new hood.

Crossing the roof, Mica peered down to the street below to look for potential victims. She spied an old man sitting on the curb, head drooping and posture weary. There was some sort of bug going around – whether real or magical she didn’t know – and while she suffered from it occasionally, she had found it more of a help then a hindrance. After all, tired people made for much easier targets.

Dropping to the ground, Mica walked up behind the guy, keeping her hood up and body angled away, but the man was so tired that he didn’t notice. Mica leaned up against the fence and pretended to fiddle with something as she slowly drained the man’s remaining energy, watching as he slumped more and more. Finally the man fell over and Mica turned to leave, only to get whacked in the face with a heavy purse.

“You killer!” Cried a shrill, reedy voice. “ What did ya’ do to my Georgey?”

“ I didn’t touch him.” Mica snapped, looking at the old lady. It was true too, because she hadn’t touched the man.

“ Don’t lie to me! You killed George!” If the woman kept shrieking she was sure to draw attention. “ Georgey was alive, then he died, ans-”

The woman was cut off by a swift punch to her stomach which winded her. Mica had no desire to listen to her shrieks. She instead quickly drained the old woman and stole her purse; fitting, she thought, since the hag had the gall to swing a purse at a Captain.

This particular encounter was one that Mica would never recount.