Victory: The Invincible - Chapter 1

The work day has been slow so far. It's a weekday and the morning rush is over. Only a few patrons linger in the shop chatting, working silently on their laptops, or reading in a comfortable chair while sipping coffee. I'm working on cleaning the machines right now, trying to prepare for the lunch rush that usually starts around eleven. My coworker, Kim, is putting some fresh pastries in the oven and going about her work prepping the food for lunch rush. Just two regular girls working a regular job in a regular coffee shop.

BOOM!

An explosion? I know it's going to be a fight for Victory, but it still shocks me every time something like that happens. All of the patrons who were so casually enjoying their coffee rush to the glass storefront, looking frantically for the source of the explosive sound. Unfortunately, since I began my hero-ing days, crime has begun increasing in scale. Small crimes are down because no one wants to face Victory. But big, bombastic stuff happened more frequently so villains could get their shots at defeating her. Thankfully, no one had yet. Although, I have had my share of trials over the year or so that I've been Victory. We'll tell those tales another day. Right now, I have to figure out what's going on out there.

I drop my apron on the ground, thankful that everyone, including Kim, is distracted and looking out the giant glass windows at the front of the coffee shop as I slip quietly out the back door. I quickly transform into my skimpy red outfit and launch myself into the air, relishing the blast of cool wind on my face and bare midriff. Flying is exhilarating. Imagine the adrenaline rush of a roller coaster, but you’re also in control and able to go wherever you want to in three dimensional space. It’s amazing.

I propel myself up over the building that houses the cafe and a couple other shops on the block and scan the area, looking for smoke or fire or any other sign of an explosion. I notice a plume of black billowing from a skyscraper two blocks over. I think that’s a medical research lab.

WHOOSH!

I quickly soar through the air, finding the smoke pouring from the 10th floor of the building. My feet find the concrete flooring now exposed partially through the office carpet from the fire and concussive blast. The smoke is thick and the air is heavy. Thankfully, my powers keep me from feeling or even facing any kinds of repercussions from this heavy smoke inhalation. I can breathe anything and be fine. Even underwater.

“Hello!? Is anyone in here?” I call out, hoping to find survivors who may need help. As I stand amidst the black fumes clouding my vision, I listen intently for any response. Anything that might tell me that someone is in need of help. No response finds my ears.

“Alright then…” I mumble, pushing through the black smoke.

As soon as the smoke becomes less dense, I feel a shockwave on my left wrist, sending me flying backwards into a wall behind me. Something sticky has completely covered my hand and locked it to the wall, the substance holding my left hand slightly out and up away from my body.

SQUISH!

Another hit! This time, on my right hand. It’s completely covered in a sticky green substance, locked tightly to the wall straight over my head. There’s only one person who could possibly create such a powerful and sticky compound.

The Tarantula.

“Ohoho, look who we have here!” I hear his cackle from behind the ever flowing smoke. “I think we caught a little butterfly in our web. I knew all that ruckus would bring you right to me! You can’t help yourself, can you, Victory?”

The smoke begins to clear a bit as the Tarantula steps into view. His hair sticks out wildly all over his seemingly old body. He wears goggles on his head that he sometimes uses to protect his eyes from his explosive antics (this isn’t the first time he’s lured me somewhere using a bomb of some sort) and an oversized labcoat that tells me that he might have been a researcher somewhere? Probably in this very lab.

Two large cannons are attached to the Tarantula’s human arms. And I include the word “human” there because he also wears a metal backpack from which six robotic arms emerge at will, controlled by the Tarantula’s thoughts. Although, given my weakness, it’s fairly obvious why he always wears that backpack when he decides it’s time for us to meet again.

“Of course it’s you,” I chuckle at the old man standing before me. “Still don’t know a better way to get a lady’s attention, do you?”

“It works every time on just the right lady,” he growls, smirking a little as he does.

I try my best to wiggle free from the sticky crap pinning me to the wall, but he always makes it stronger whenever we meet. Eventually, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to break out at all. And I definitely can’t if he…

Oh no…

The Tarantula lunges forward, standing face-to-face with me as his robotic arms get to work immediately, taking advantage of my unfortunately revealing costume and his meticulously tuned sticky restraints. Two of the six robot hands find my exposed armpits, gently scratching back and forth as two others scrape lightly up and down my bared tummy. The other two begin roughly tickling my hips which my outfit also does little to cover up.

Ugh… Why did my outfit have to be so revealing!?

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I immediately begin roaring with laughter, the ticklish sensations on my armpits, tummy, and hips overwhelming my brain and leaving me with no response other than raucous, uncontrollable, ceaseless ticklish laughter.

“NAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT MY ARMPIHIHIHIHITS!” I scream, a girlish squeal following close behind my plea for the ticklish assault on my freshly shaven underarms to end already. The fingers gently rake over my ticklish skin, each ticklish pass eliciting musical laughter from my body which thrashes back and forth involuntarily as the tickling continues in earnest. The fingers continue their tickling, raking up and down my completely exposed armpit with my hand trapped straight over my head, and the other hand just lightly scritching back and forth in my other armpit which is slightly less exposed since my hand is restrained a good bit lower than the other.

“AHHHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’LL MAHAHAHAKE YOHOOHOOHOU PAYYYY!” I roar as the hands at my tummy rake up and down, down and up, slowly driving me absolutely insane. My ticklish abs are entirely visible with each howling, ticklish guffaw, leading the Tarantula to simply continue the ticklish cycle of stroking my tummy down and up, up and down, down and up, up and down…

Until the fingers change tactics.

Dancing fingers spider tickle up and down the milky white expanse of my helplessly exposed midriff now, compelling even more ticklish laughter from my bound, defenseless form. The robotic hands mimic the most merciless of ticklers, placing their finger pads within perfect tickling distance depending on the desired degree of ticklish torture. Tarantula always started off a bit lighter. But eventually, it would get worse for me. The light tickling speeds up as the fingers graze my ticklish tummy and cause it to skip and bounce with each delicate stroke. My laughter continues and eventually becomes almost like white noise. Beautiful, musical, joyous white noise that you can almost fall asleep to.

A warmth rises in my chest as my body is tickled all over. My heart beats quickly from the excessive ticklish stimulation and my cheeks begin to feel like they are being toasted. The incredible sensation of ticklish torment flowing through my hyper sensitive body drives me insane. But I also just can’t get enough of this delightful loss of control. I thrash hard against the goop binding me to the wall, fighting against the relentless ticklish assault on my upper body as the Tarantula tickles and tickles and tickles. But no matter how hard I fight.

I’m not completely sure I actually want to get away.

“NOHOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHAHAHAHAHOP!” I cry, begging for the tickling menace barraging my belly, armpits, and hips with tickles to have mercy and let me take a breath. Thankfully, my invulnerability stays, so the normal soreness most people associate with long bouts of tickling doesn’t ever find its way to my sides. However, my ticklishness being enhanced due to whatever magical trade-off I get from having my powers at all… That increases the intensity of the tickle torture without any painful ramifications.

“IHIHIHIHI’M BEGGING YOOHOOHOOHOU!” The tickling is even more intense now than it was when the Tarantula started, a product of my poorly planned wish, I’m sure. The fingers at my armpits rake gently back and forth, tickling away at my poor exposed hollows. The fingers at my belly have found entirely new techniques to tickle me including lightly scratching my ticklish skin and even dipping into my belly button and mercilessly wiggling back and forth until I’m crying with laughter, tears of ticklish mirth pouring down my cheeks like a waterfall. The fingers on my hips, though. Those are the most merciless and the least explorative.

The fingers in my hips dig in with vigor and speed. They tickle deep in my hips, rubbing up against my hip flexors and the tendons running throughout my wide, hyper ticklish pelvic region. I buck up and down, trying to achieve any relief at all from the incredibly powerful tickle torture, but to no avail. The mechanical hands simply take hold of my hips and dig the fingers into my muscles mercilessly until I’m babbling incoherently from the ticklish torment. Pretty soon, I’ll be nothing but a screaming, thrashing, ticklish puddle on the floor howling and begging for the tickling to end. And I highly doubt the Tarantula would let that happen.

“Coochie coochie coo, my little Victory. Soon, you’ll suffer the pain of defeat!” Tarantula teases me. He’s always been after my demise. Countless times he has lured me to a location only to attempt to tickle me relentlessly until I eventually figure out a way to escape his grasp and beat his ass back into hiding. If only he would stay gone…

The tickling is relentless, constantly screaming at my body to laugh and laugh, the warmth in my chest and the rate of my heartbeat rising quickly enough to cause me to lose all sense of where I am or what’s happening other than the best thing that could happen: I am being tickled to the point of complete helplessness. I’ve lost all control as my laughter hits a fever pitch and my thrashing has all but ceased. Instead, I simply hang in my bonds, limp as a wet noodle, and accept my ticklish fate. Laughter pours like a flood from my lips as ticklish tears flow freely across my cheeks. A bit of drool spills from my endlessly opened mouth and my cheeks, armpits, tummy, and hips all turn bright red from constant stimulation, both tickling and laughing.

“THAHAHAHAT’S EHEEHEEHEENOUGH!” I scream. My powers might be gone while I’m tickled like this, but that doesn’t mean I have zero strength.

I jump, still locked in my bonds, and kick the Tarantula square in the chest, causing him to stumble backward and lose his grip on my admittedly curvy hips. As he stumbles to the floor and the tickling finally ends, I use the opening to break free of the gross goo he used to trap me and jump on top of him, threatening to knock him out with a single punch.

“It’s over, Tarantula. You’re finally going deep, deep underground,” I threaten, hearing sirens responding to the scene and knowing the officers down below will be happy to haul him off to prison.

“Ahhh, you would think so, wouldn’t you?” he cackles before reaching a hand to my side and tickling me for a split second before tossing me aside and sprinting through the pitch black smoke. I try to find him, searching the entire building for any trace he might have left. He’s one of the few who keeps escaping me. And as much as I don’t entirely mind being tickled by him… Well, I hate losing more than I enjoy the tickling.

Frustrated by his escape, I fly back to the coffee shop which has now been completely evacuated by the authorities due to the proximity of what is being called a terrorist attack and swap back into my regular clothes. I hear the sirens approaching the lab and try to blend in with the terrified civilians, knowing full well the culprit and purpose of the attack. It was purely an opportunity to tango with Victory.