AN: C'mon guys. Help get top 15.
---
The week after the Winston Bank explosion, Dakota City had been plastered with headlines about one man. Francis Stone, better known by the street name Hotstreak, burned his way across half the city. Gas stations, jewelry stores, even a police cruiser or two. He seemed to light things on fire for fun, tossing flames around just to hear people scream.
Every night, the news replayed the same shaky phone videos. Francis laughing with that cocky grin, his hands glowing like molten iron, cops ducking behind cars while fire hydrants sprayed steam into the air. Static had confronted him once, and for about two minutes. The fight ended with Hotstreak blasting Static before flying away while mocking him.
The city was rattled. Every corner shop and bodega was bracing for the day Hotstreak might walk in with flames on his palms.
[Apartment above J&H Pizza]
Harley was sprawled upside down on the couch, her legs hooked over the backrest and her pigtails dragging the carpet. She had a bowl of popcorn balanced dangerously on her stomach.
"Well, ain't that a flaming meatball. Guy's been torchin' half the city for a week, and no one's gotten him yet? C'mon! What's the point of havin' cops if they ain't gonna play firefighter with attitude?" She stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth, then pointed at the screen. "I say we catch this hot potato and cash in on a fat reward. The mayor's gotta be dangling money for this nutjob. Or the cops. Somebody's gotta cough up a reward for takin' down Mister Matchstick."
John was sitting on the couch. He arched an eyebrow. "A reward. You think the city of Dakota has money sitting around to pay vigilantes?"
"Hey, don't crush the dream before it gets juicy," Harley shot back, twisting upright and landing on her feet in one smooth roll. She even managed to catch the popcorn bowl. She placed the bowl on the table and planted her fists on her hips. "Bluebell here's got ice. All she's gotta do is turn Hotsteak into a popsicle. Bing bang boom, we win."
Maureen blinked, caught off guard. "You want me to… turn him into a popsicle?"
"Yeah!" Harley replied. "C'mon, you got the cold thing, he's got the hot thing. It's like cosmic balance or whatever. Plus, if Hotsteak's locked up, less chance he decides to barbecue our storefront. That neon sign ain't cheap."
Maureen said softly as usual. "It's Hotstreak."
"Hotsteak, Hotpot, Hotcrossbun, whatever." Harley waved a hand. "Point is, he's roastin' half the town and nobody's stoppin' him for good. We swoop in, save the day, cash in."
John finally leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"As much as I hate agreeing with her, she might have a point. If that freak throws a fireball in here, our shop goes up in smoke. Then I have to deal with insurance paperwork." He looked at Harley with deadpan seriousness. "Insurance is worse than war. At least in war, you see the bullet coming. With insurance, you fill out twenty forms, wait six months, and argue with some jackass on the phone about 'acts of god' versus 'criminal mischief,' and still get denied. It's like trying to claim life insurance without dying."
Maureen blinked. "That's… the comparison you're worried about?"
"Yes," John said flatly. "Paperwork is hell."
Harley clapped her hands again, this time spinning toward John with a grin so wide it nearly split her face. "Oh my god. We should totally do it. We could be like… vigilantes. Fightin' crime in the shadows at night, slingin' pizzas in the morning. It's perfect! Just like Batman, except way cooler and with better carbs."
Maureen blinked at her. "You want to be like Batman?"
"Damn right I am," Harley said, pointing dramatically toward the window like a director calling 'action.' "Only difference is we don't brood on gargoyles all night. We fight crime, we cash checks, and we still make it back in time to prep dough for the lunch rush. Gotham's got Batman. Dakota's about to get…"
She paused, tapping her chin. "What's a good team name? The Pizza Patrol? The Mozzarella Mob? Eh, we'll workshop it. Oh, we'll also need a cool signal in the sky. Instead of a bat, maybe a giant pizza slice. People'll look up and go, 'Oh thank god, the Pizza Vigilantes are comin'!' She spread her arms dramatically. "Justice served with extra cheese."
John rubbed his temple. "I regret opening my mouth."
Maureen tried not to laugh, but it slipped out. "Pizza Vigilantes?"
"Yeah! Temporary name for now," Harley pointed at her like she'd just passed a test. "You'd be the Ice Queen of the crew. Freeze-dry Fireboy before he melts the city. Me? I'm the brains and muscle and style and comedic relief. Ok, too many 'ands'. And John—well, John's our brooding boss who growls a lot but secretly cares. He'll be our ultimate trump card who'll step in when we are half head."
John muttered, "Sounds like a nightmare."
"Nightmare that pays," Harley shot back. "Think about it. We kick Hotsteak's butt, the city calls us heroes, we continue to take down more baddies and maybe we get medals. Or coupons. Or maybe we finally get that soda machine fixed without me havin' to bang it with a wrench."
Maureen shook her head slowly. "I'm not sure this is… normal."
"Sweetie, normal is overrated. I mean, you freeze things with your hands. He sets things on fire with his. You two were literally made to fight. It's destiny. Like peanut butter and jelly, only with more property damage."
John leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Destiny or not, Harley's right about one thing. If we don't deal with him, eventually he'll find his way here. Then it won't just be about headlines. It'll be about survival. Ovens, freezers, stock, all gone in a second. We'd be out on the street."
Maureen shook her head, "I'll do my best."
Harley clapped her hands together. "Alright then. It's settled. We're gonna track down Hotcrossbun and turn him into a campfire story. John can handle the punching, Bluebell can handle the freezing, and I'll handle the public relations. I'm real good at quotin' stuff for reporters."
"Weren't you the muscle?" Maureen said with a raised eyebrow.
"Details," Harley grinned.
John gave her a flat look. "Vigilanties and reporters don't mix well."
"Don't be such a buzzkill. This is gonna be fun! We'll be wearing masks," Harley walked around like a general giving orders. "First things first. Outfits. Every good vigilante crew's gotta have a look. I'm thinkin' leather jackets. Maybe matching masks. And utility belts. Definitely utility belts. Mine's gonna have glitter bombs."
Maureen lifted a brow. "Glitter bombs?"
"Distraction, duh. No one expects a face full of sparkle."
John took a deep breath. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. We find him, we stop him, take him to the cops, and collect the reward if there is any. Then we get out before anyone links it back here."
Harley groaned. "Ugh, you're no fun. You'd go to Disneyland and lecture Mickey Mouse about tax codes."
Maureen bit her lip, then spoke carefully. "If… if I help you, it's not for rewards. I don't care about money. I just… maybe it'd be good to use my powers for something better than…" Her words trailed off, but Harley caught the look in her eyes.
Harley softened a little, stepping close and nudging her shoulder. "Hey. Don't sweat it. We all got our pasts. Right now, you got a chance to do somethin' different. Freeze the bad guy, save the good guys. It's like redemption, but with extra mozzarella."
Maureen let out a real laugh. It was small, but it wasn't bitter.
John grabbed his jacket from the chair. "We start tomorrow."
Harley snapped her fingers like she was sealing the plan. "Then it's official. The Pizza Vigilantes are open for business. Our motto: we deliver justice in thirty minutes or less."
---
[Dakota Mall – Morning]
The sliding glass doors parted, and Dakota Mall greeted them with air-conditioned chill and the faint scent of pretzels. A pop song blared faintly overhead. Families pushed strollers. Teenagers clutched shopping bags like trophies.
Maureen hesitated at the threshold, hugging the sleeves of Harley's loaner hoodie tighter. The hoodie was pink, covered in glittery cartoon cats. Not really her style.
"This feels… strange," she admitted softly.
Harley looped her arm around Maureen's shoulders and tugged her forward. "Strange? Honey, this is paradise! Behold! A whole cathedral of capitalism, where dreams come true if you've got the cash. Lucky for you, Daddy Warbucks here brought the wallet." She jerked her thumb toward John.
John sighed. "Stop calling me that."
"Fine. Sugar Dad—"
"Finish that sentence and you're walking home," John said without looking at her.
Maureen tried to hide her laugh.
Harley grinned and whispered to her, "Totally worth it. He gets this little vein in his forehead when he's cranky. Love it."
John ignored them both and strode ahead like a man on a mission.
"Alright," he said. "We're buying everything you need. Clothes, shoes, winter coat, maybe a phone. Whatever you're missing. We're doing it all today, so I don't have to be dragged back here every week."
"Clothes are fine," Maureen said quickly. "I don't need much."
Harley spun on her heel and pointed dramatically. "Incorrect! Girl, you've been raiding my closet for weeks. You've got, like, two shirts and one pair of jeans to your name. That's not a wardrobe. That's a hostage situation. We're liberating you."
Maureen opened her mouth to argue, but Harley was already marching toward the first store like a general storming the front lines.
[First Stop: Clothing Store]
The store was a bright, modern space with racks of denim and mannequins in crop tops. Pop music thumped.
Harley dived in headfirst. She began yanking hangers left and right, piling Maureen's arms with everything from leather jackets to sundresses. "Try this. And this. And oh my god, this would look killer on you."
Maureen blinked at the growing mountain of fabric. "I… don't usually wear expensive dresses."
"Exactly! That's why you gotta try one. Expand your horizons. C'mon, live a little. Don't make me start singing songs about leaving your comfort zone."
John trailed behind, hands in his pockets, looking like a soldier in enemy territory. He surveyed a rack of ripped jeans with deep suspicion.
A clerk approached him. "Can I help you find something?"
"Yes," John said deadpan. "The exit."
The clerk blinked, then quickly retreated.
Harley shoved a pile of clothes into Maureen's arms and steered her toward the fitting rooms. "Alright, Bluebell, it's makeover time."
Maureen emerged ten minutes later in a dark green sweater dress. She tugged at the hem, cheeks flushed. "This feels… weird."
Harley gasped like she'd just witnessed the birth of a star. "Weird? Sweetie, you look like you stepped out of a magazine. John, back me up."
John looked up from the rack of jackets he was pretending to inspect. His eyes flicked over Maureen once. "It suits you."
Maureen's face went pink. She ducked back into the fitting room.
Harley elbowed John. "Could you be any less dramatic? You're supposed to say something like, 'Wow, you look amazing, Maureen! Let's buy ten of those.' Not 'it suits you' like you're picking wallpaper."
John gave her a flat look. "I don't do pep talks. I said it works. That should be enough."
Harley rolled her eyes. "He's hopeless. Anyway, Bluebell, try the jeans next!"
[An Hour Later]
By the time they staggered out of the store, John was carrying three bags in each hand, Harley had two more slung over her shoulder, and Maureen looked dazed.
"I don't know if I need all this," Maureen murmured.
"You do," John said. "End of discussion."
"Also," Harley added, "you look smokin' in half of it. Don't argue with results."
Maureen smiled shyly, the kind of smile that looked rare on her.
[Second Stop: Shoes]
The shoe store was too cramped thanks to the ongoing new stock and offers. Shelves stacked high, teenagers arguing about sneakers, a kid trying on shoes two sizes too big.
Harley immediately ran to a display of sequined boots. "Oh my god. These scream Harley Quinn. Should I get 'em?"
"No," John said automatically.
"You didn't even look!"
"I don't need to look."
Meanwhile, Maureen tried on a pair of black ankle boots. She walked a few steps, wobbling slightly. "These are… nice, but maybe too fancy."
Harley crouched dramatically, clutching her heart. "Too fancy? Girl, you deserve fancy. After everything you've been through, you should be strutting like a runway model."
John inspected the boots with a soldier's eye. "Good grip. Solid heel. Practical."
Maureen blinked. "So… we're buying them?"
"Yes," John said.
"See? He approves!" Harley crowed. "If Mister Broodypants approves, it's destiny. Buy them!"
They left with two boxes of boots and a pair of sneakers John insisted on.
[Third Stop: Essentials]
John dragged them into a department store next. He grabbed socks, jackets, toiletries, phone and a winter coat, piling them into the cart with military efficiency.
"Uh, John?" Harley asked. "You're shopping like you're provisioning an army."
"That's the point," he said. "She shouldn't have to worry about this for months. One trip. Done."
Maureen looked overwhelmed, but there was a faint glow in her eyes. No one had ever stocked her life like this before.
[Lunch Break – Food Court]
The three of them finally collapsed at a table in the mall's food court. Harley had a tray stacked with nachos, pizza slices, and a milkshake taller than her head.
Maureen had a modest chicken sandwich. John had black coffee and a burger.
"Alright," Harley said with her mouth full, "we officially survived the Mall Wars. How ya feelin', Bluebell? Enlightened? Reborn? Like Cinderella after the fairy godmother intervention?"
Maureen smiled faintly. "More like… overwhelmed. But… in a good way."
John sipped his coffee. "You'll get used to it. Everyone deserves stability."
Harley pointed her straw at him. "Aww, look at you. Mister Softheart pretending he's still Mister Scary. You're basically a teddy bear with anger issues."
John deadpanned. "I could strangle you with this straw."
"See? That's what I'm talkin' about!" Harley laughed.
Maureen covered her mouth, hiding her laugh behind her sandwich.
Harley leaned closer to her. "So, which outfit's your favorite? The green dress? The leather jacket? Or those jeans that made John's eye twitch like he was tryin' not to compliment you?"
Maureen turned red. "I don't… I don't know. Maybe the jacket."
Harley grinned like she'd just won the lottery. "Knew it. Classic cool girl vibes. With your ice powers? Chef's kiss."
[Later – Back at the Apartment]
By the time they got home, arms full of bags, Maureen looked like she'd just run a marathon. She sat on the couch surrounded by her new things, touching the soft fabric like she didn't believe it was real.
Harley plopped down beside her. "See? Told ya it'd be fun. You're officially upgraded."
John set the last bag down. "Remember: these aren't luxuries. They're essentials. Don't feel guilty using them."
Maureen looked at him, then at Harley, then back at the pile of clothes. For the first time since they'd taken her in, her smile wasn't small or shy. It was wide and bright.
"Thank you," she said softly. "Both of you."
Harley threw an arm around her shoulders. "Don't thank us yet, sweetie. Wait till we kick Hotsteak's butt. Then you'll really see how fun this trio can be."
John pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's Hotstreak."
Harley winked at Maureen. "Hotsteak forever."
---
---[Don't forget those powerstones]---
If you like my work, you can support me on>: www.patr eon.com/XcaliburXc
[Read 16 advance chapters]
SPOILERS> Click to read upcoming chapters names.[1]
[1] Ch: 22 [Glitter, flame, ice... Shadow?!] Ch: 23 [TMNT in town] Ch: 24 [Ninja Turtles vs John] Ch: 25 [Ninjas in Dakota] Ch: 26 [Static vs Karai]