Page 43 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

Following the death of Supermodel and the second disappearance of Jolly Roger, The Super Patriots, Inc. entered a period of rebuilding. Their interim CEOs had been chosen, according to eyewitness accounts, by Velma “Velveteen” Martinez, who had been severely wounded in the fight against Supermodel. They had been better able to deal with government bureaucracy than Velveteen herself…or maybe they had simply failed to run quickly enough.

Aaron “Action Dude” Frank was, at the moment of his coronation as the company’s heir apparent, the last member of Velveteen’s own hero class still standing. This may explain her willingness to single him out, although it is unclear whether she did so out of favoritism or anger. (Their relationship, and the end of same, has been well-documented in the files recording her time with the corporation.) Born the son of Daniel and Melissa Frank of Staten Island, New York, he acquired his powers through exposure to irradiated maple syrup, as did so many others with the basic “flying brick” set. Charming, attractive, and well-positioned to be the all-American superhero, he frustrated his early handlers with his calm refusal to reject his faith, continuing to attend services at the temple he had belonged to since he was a child. This may be the only corporate edict he ever chose to reject. Action Dude’s history is a patchwork of compromises, concessions, and willing agreement to whatever The Super Patriots, Inc. asked of him. Not exactly the sort of thing that sets one up to become CEO.

Dotty Gale first appeared a week after The Wizard of Oz went into wide release, popping out of thin air on Hollywood Boulevard with a basket in her arms and a small, scruffy dog of indeterminate breed at her heels. She has remained essentially the same ever since: physically twelve years old, with golden hair, an angelic smile, and silver slippers which have never been seen to leave her feet. Her recorded powers include teleportation, summoning, controlling, and redirecting wind storms, and disaster recovery. She has been an invaluable help to FEMA over the past several decades, lessening the impact of major storms on human cities and preventing loss of life in the aftermath of the storms which cannot be prevented. Despite her adult attitude and opinions, her legal status has always been questionable, with some claiming that she needs to be placed in a stable home, while others insist that she is an illegal immigrant from a country that doesn’t actually exist.

The American Dream was recruited by The Super Patriots, Inc. as a child, and their civilian identity has not yet been released, despite repeated requests for this information. The first photos of them in their heroic identity appears to indicate a female child hero, as their uniform is equipped with a skirt, and their hair is longer than the level of their jaw—at the time, a clear indication of gender on the part of the Marketing Department. The next appearances of the American Dream, however, would seem to indicate a male child. While the identity of the individual in the costume remained consistent, no clear cues as to their gender were ever given. It was not until the announcement of the new CEOs that the American Dream finally gave a statement: “I am genderfluid,” they said, to a watching press conference. “Whether I am male or female right now is irrelevant to how well I do my job and protect the public. Thank you.”

Requests for further comment have been ignored and, in some cases, outright refused. With three individuals whose credentials are unclear at best, and absent at worst, in charge of the largest organization of superhumans in the world, is it any wonder that steps are being taken to guarantee the safety of the public? Humanity must be protected.

Sometimes even from our protectors.

* * *

Velveteen opened her eyes to find herself staring up at a blindingly white ceiling. She blinked several times, trying to reassure herself that she hadn’t somehow ended up back in Winter, about to go through the whole ordeal all over again.

The blankets were warm and soft and felt like polyester, a sensation she hadn’t realized how much she missed until it was back. The Seasonal Lands weren’t big on synthetic fibers. She could feel her heartbeat speeding up from the stress of not knowing where she was. Even having a heartbeat wasn’t a given anymore. She reached out with the part of her that animated the world, and while she didn’t find any toys in her immediate vicinity, she also didn’t encounter the barriers that Spring had placed on her. She was back in the Calendar Country, back in the real world. It was the only thing that made sense.

She attempted to sit up. The handcuff fastened around her left wrist stopped her. She looked at the cuff. The cuff did not do her the courtesy of disappearing.

“What the fuck?” She tugged on her wrist. The cuff clanked against the metal frame of the bed.

If there had been a master class on “how to take Vel from drowsy wakefulness to fully awake and, yes, also really pissed off,” they would have used “handcuff her to a bed” as lesson number one. She jerked on the cuff, rattling it hard against the metal bedframe. Other details were starting to introduce themselves, details like the needle in her arm and the dull, persistent ache in her head. She’d been drugged. Someone had drugged her.

Someone was going to regret that.

The room she was in was not only devoid of toys: it was devoid of anything that might have given her a clue as to where she was. The walls were painted a dull shade of industrial cream, and there were no furnishings apart from the bed she was tethered to. A few machines stood duty nearby, presumably monitoring her, but also reminding her that she was a prisoner here. She couldn’t just disconnect them and go.

Vel narrowed her eyes. Somebody was going to get punched really hard, just as soon as she knew where she was. They couldn’t keep her like this, not without cause, and she hadn’t done anything wrong. She⁠—

The door opened. A woman poked her head inside, looking carefully at the machines before she focused on Vel. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said. “I thought the machines were bored and yelling about nothing again.”

“Imagineer!” Vel sat up as far as the cuff would allow. “What the fuck is going on? Why am I chained to this bed? Am I under arrest? Is this The Super Patriots, Inc., or do you have me held in some sort of secret lair? Are you going to hollow me out and turn me into a robot?”

“Huh.” Imagineer blinked. “I guess those are all reasonable questions, or they would be, if you’d paused for breath between them and given me a chance to answer one or two. You are not under arrest. You are chained to the bed for your own protection, and so you don’t break any of my stuff. Yes, you’re at headquarters. I’m not going to hollow you out and turn you into a robot, although that’s an interesting idea. Now it’s my turn. How are you feeling? Any dizziness, nausea, disorientation…?”

“You’re a technopath, not a doctor.”

Imagineer looked at her wearily. Velveteen realized with a start just how tired the other woman looked. “I’m the best you’ve got right now,” she said. “I’ll tell Aaron that you’re awake.”

She closed the door behind her when she left, and Velveteen was alone again. “Fuck,” she said, and closed her eyes. She was asleep before she knew it.

* * *

“Aaron?”

“No one calls me that anymore,” said Action Dude, eyes fixed on the surface of his coffee. It was too strong. He needed to be awake when Vel needed him. He’d been awake for three days. He wanted to sleep more than he had wanted anything in years. He was starting to feel like he was developing another superpower, if hallucinations could be considered a power. “It’s always ‘Action Dude.’ I don’t get to have a given name. I gave it away.”

“Okay, that’s super interesting and everything, and I’m just thrilled for you, but you asked me to tell you when bunny-girl woke up.” Imagineer folded her arms, leaning up against the doorframe. “She woke up. She went right back to sleep, but she woke up. She’s going to be okay.”

“What?” Action Dude’s head jerked around so fast that he felt something in his neck cramp. He didn’t care. He was busy staring at Imagineer. “She’s awake? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Well, first, because she’s not awake. She woke up, she went right back to sleep. She’s exhausted. You get that, right? According to my machines, she hasn’t slept in years. People aren’t designed to go without sleep for years. I’m not sure how she’s still sane. Honestly, until she spoke to me, I wasn’t certain that she was.” Imagineer remained in the doorway. It made good tactical sense. As long as she was there, Action Dude couldn’t leave the room without either shoving her or punching his way through a wall. Now that he had to pay the insurance bills, he was a lot more careful about his wall-punching. “I don’t know how long it’s going to be before she can talk about what happened to her. I don’t know if she’ll want to.”

“I don’t care,” he said staunchly. “I just need to know that she’s okay.”

“Or maybe you don’t,” said Imagineer. “Aaron, you realize this is about to become a problem, yes? As long as she’s sick, as long as she’s unconscious, we’re not breaking any laws. We’re allowed to tend to the medical needs of our fellow superhumans, due to the presumed limitations of the normal hospital system. We don’t have to tell anyone that we have her. But as soon as she’s better…she’s a wanted felon. We have to turn her in.”

“Her crime was not reporting to register herself as an animus when she wasn’t even in this dimension.”