Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❘❙❚ ISSUE #20 ░░░░ VOL. 4 ❛ THE SUPERHEROINE ❜ ┆🌹
⁘⁙💥⛠ BUY ISSUE #20 FOR $1.00 HERE ➔
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
She didn't remember the last time her body rested enough to wake up ready to face a new day. Rosie barely kept track of the days by the officials reciting the news on the radios and the dates engraved on the food boxes that opened every morning, the same boxes she had made years ago when she negotiated her first job contract at Vought. At that time, she slept like a queen, and the feeling of resting her head on the pillow without the worries of the moment made a vivid memory of repulsion towards the war. Since crossing the ocean, she had been kept from one place to another, and having a moment of privacy had become impossible, sculpting the land with her powers to create miles of trenches, fitting into a small parcel to lift logs of supernatural resistance destined to quell the cold, moving rocks to form walls and small cabins. She worked all day for the soldiers and for the country's future, or so she repeated to herself in her head to believe it. If she was doing a good job, it was a matter of measuring it with the results. What were they? A call from the President of the United States of America for losing a battle in Morocco.
For the first time, she disobeyed and lost thousands of lives.
The army did not like superheroes, and they had reasons for it, talking about arrogance, degenerate beings, and unpredictable bombs. Disobedient, monstrous, useless. The letters she received, from the general of a battalion to the officer of a team of four, destroyed the reputation of the beloved American soldier or her boyfriend - if she remembered she had one - calling him egocentric, idiot on two legs, killer, and accusing him of betraying the country. They said he was very good at speaking in front of the masses, but an idiot when it came to working in a team. Rosie couldn't complain much about hers; the men filled pages with the same phrase: what the hell is a woman doing among them? They recommended tasks more appropriate to her function, such as the famous one: go to the kitchens. She had to concede them a point in their reasoning. She grew vegetables and fruits and managed to make great dishes... At least no one had accused her of being a murderer. The failed mission of Poison Rose in Morocco and the catastrophic performance of Soldier Boy in the Pacific served to unite them in Africa on a mission to protect one of the monumental sources of money for the United States.
"Who the hell does that faggot think he is?" Ben shouted, wiping his hands of blood with water from a bottle. For a moment, Rosie wanted to take it away from him; he was wasting water and making her very nervous, but she didn't. "If he let me go alone... I could open the way for the rest of the pavilion," he said, throwing the empty bottle into a corner of the provisional tent, the closest thing around there to a room. "Anyway, that faggot will pay me back. I'm glad to be with you, honey."
