“…In keeping with our commitment to serving people over power,” Jenny begins, “I hereby announce, that thirty percent of profits from the new PricePhone will go to charity!”
The entire room erupts in applause and cheer.
Jenny T. Price, the consummate businesswoman and CEO of The Price Corporation, stands on stage. Tall and slender. Her skin a rich bronze. Her hands are clasped together, augmented by a flawless smile. Her reddish-brown wavy hair tied up in a bun.
Behind her is a silent slideshow showing the new PricePhone’s different features.
Jenny is wearing all-black: jeans, high-heeled boots, and a turtleneck shirt. Her lips, painted the vivid crimson of a promise, catch the light—bold and unyielding—as each word she speaks blooms from them. A small microphone is clamped to her chest.
In the crowd below are adoring Jenny Price and PricePhone fans; as well as media personnel, celebrities, influencers, and PriceCorp employees.
“WOOO!”
“We love you Jenny!”
“PriceCorp forever!”
“That’s my boss!”
Jenny raises her right hand in the air. The room becomes silent.
“My late father, Harold Price,” Jenny says, “always stressed the importance of giving back to the community. This is a legacy we wish to continue…”
*
Penthouse, Kimura Tower, Chinatown
Mai Kimura sits on her couch in a red silk robe, legs crossed, alone. Her hair is let down, showing black bangs and a mane that goes down past her shoulders. A bottle of wine and a glass both sit on her table, half-full. A small pistol also sits on the table, fully loaded—as well as a metal plate with three perfectly cut lines of an unknown powder. The Expo is shown on her screen. Her knuckles whiten and shake as they grip the remote.
Mai puts the remote down, uncrosses her legs, and stoops toward the plate. With one finger on her left nostril, she puts her face in the plate.
SNIIIIIIFFFFF!
She rises back up and sniffs again, pinching her nose as snot runs down her right nostril. She wipes it off. Her entire body quivers. Restless, she quickly crosses her legs again. Her eyes are glued to the screen as her face begins to turn red.
Jenny continues: “He believed in in the City of L.A. It’s people. It’s streets. Because he was a product of them. A young black kid from the streets of South Central with nothing but dreams, who built an empire. It was only possible because of one thing: education.”
Mai clenches her teeth so hard her jaw hurts. Her nostrils flare. Her stomach hardens. Her eyes are blazing.
Mai screams at the top of her lungs, her voice resembling that of a cat in heat.
She uncrosses her legs, grabs the pistol from the table, points it at the TV, aims it at Jenny’s face, and…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Sparks and streaks of light emerge from TV.
FIZZZZZT! POP! POP! FIZZZZZZT!
Her trusted underboss, Minoru Tanaka, runs in the room from the front door—pistol in hand. He is wearing a gray shirt jacket with a black tank-top underneath, along with black jeans. His hair goes just below his ears. His skin is sweaty and flushed.
“Ane-san!” he says. “What’s the matt—”
“Between her and The Wraith I don’t know who I hate more!” Mai says. Pistol still in hand pointed at the TV. She hyperventilates. “What on Earth do they see in her?!”
Minoru sighs and relaxes, he conceals his gun. He’s seen her like this before.
More times than he’d like to count.
Mai slams her pistol down to the table, still hyperventilating. She runs her fingers through her hair.
“That stupid voice!” Mai says. “That face! It’s always ‘my father’ this, ‘my father’ that! He’s dead, get over it!”
Minoru’s mouth is agape.
Mai continues: “And how many of those f**king phones is she gonna put out?! They all suck!”
It takes everything in Minoru not to laugh. His right hand covers his lips. He closes his eyes and turns his face from her.
“I better not ever see anyone in my organization with a PricePhone,” Mai says, turning to him, “or they’ll get a knife in their throats!”
Mai seethes as she pulls her hair, nearly ripping chunks of it out. Minoru collects himself, sits next to Mai, and places his hand on Mai’s shoulder.
“Ane-san,” Minoru says. “Please, calm down.”
Mai removes her hands from her hair. She balls her fists and growls, before turning her face to Minoru.
“Oh I’m gonna be calm alright! Since the Princess wants to go on a charm offensive, we’ll have one of our own. I want you to organize a toy drive at the Slauson Swap Meet.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow!”
Minoru stands up and scratches his head. “Isn’t that too soon?”
“Just do it!” Mai screams, her voice cracking.
Minoru punches his palm, holds it there, and bows. “Hai!”
He powerwalks out of the room.
*
The Next Morning
Slauson Swap Meet, South Central
The sun shines high in the sky. The Slauson Swap Meet is usually busy, but today it was packed. Lines of children, both African-American and Mexican-American, along with their parents, grab toys and video game consoles from behind trucks.
“I got a new GameStation!” one boy cheers, before running away.
Standing by the trucks is Mai, wearing a red suit jacket with a white dress shirt underneath, along with a red knee-high skirt and red high heels. Her hair tied up in a high ponytail. She stands along with several burly Japanese men who are passing out toys to children. She smiles, kisses and hugs everyone. A young African-American girl runs up to her.
“Mai Kimura?!” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Hey little girl!” Mai says. “What do ya want? A Barbie doll? A Bratz doll? Your wish is my command!”
The young girl laughs. “I want a Barbie doll!”
Mai gestures for one of her men to grab a Barbie doll from inside the truck. The Barbie doll was a custom-made Mai Kimura doll that was released as part of a collaboration between Mai and the manufacturers. The man gives it to Mai, who then hands it to the girl.
The girl sees it and her eyes light up.
“Wow,” the girl says. “Thanks Miss Kimura! You’re my idol!”
Mai flashes a smile. “Aww, thank you! Why don’t you take a picture with me?”
She pulls out her flip phone and hands it to one of her men, who runs in front of them with the phone in hand. Mai puts her arm around the girl as the man snaps a few pictures.
Suddenly, a brown-skinned African-American woman in a blue t-shirt, light-blue denim jacket and jeans, and white sneakers walks up to them—she has a cameraman with her. She has a golden hoop nose ring and red-dyed dreadlocks that go down past her shoulders, with a snapback hat on top of her head that says the word “PRESS”. Mai spots her and gently pushes the young girl away. The girl runs off happy and excited.
“Hey, Miss Kimura,” the woman says. “I’m Sarah Jones with the L.A. Beat! I’m shooting a video for our online blog, and I just had a few questions.”
“Of course,” Mai says, nodding and smiling. “I’d love to answer them!”
“First of all,” Sarah says, “The Kimura Foundation is doing great work here in South Central!”
“Thanks!” Mai says.
“I wanted to ask,” Sarah continues, “so a few days ago, Tina Madero, a reputed supervillain and gang leader, who your Foundation got pardoned for alleged crimes has now been charged with four murders.”
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Mai scowls and looks away from the camera.
“The nerve of this b**ch,” she thinks to herself.
“Then Serena McNeil,” Sarah says, “another alleged supervillain who you got pardoned also launched an attack at Coachella just a few days before that—”
“Look!” Mai says, turning to face Sarah and smiling:
*
You know who else is a murderer? Jenny Price. All she has to do is make more phones, and the public forgets about it. People like Tina and Serena don’t have that luxury. They weren’t born in mansions, or own billion-dollar companies. They’re victims of their circumstances, like I was at one time, and like many people in this very neighborhood are. So they go back to what they know. It’s unfortunate, but we do the best we can to make sure they have a pipeline to gainful employment… and these are just two bad apples. Most people who’ve gone through our program live successful lives.
*
Mai nods her head tightly and clasps her hands. Sarah sighs.
“Miss Kimura,” Sarah says. “With all due respect we aren’t talking about Jenny Price, and that doesn’t really answer the question—”
“The Wraith,” Mai says, her face reddening, “is the problem in Los Angeles!”
Sarah flinches.
Mai takes a deep breath. “We never had a supervillain problem until she showed up. Did we?”
“Not… necessarily—”
“Tina Madero and Serena McNeil are both troubled young women who need compassion, not prison. Or some unaccountable superpowered vigilante oppressing them.”
There’s a beat. Mai’s fingers begin to twitch at her sides.
“Miss Kimura,” Sarah says. “I’m not… talking about The Wraith either.”
Mai closes her eyes and draws in slow and steady breaths. Her lips twitch. The two men stand beside her stoically. She opens her eyes again, locking them on Sarah.
“What’d you say your name was again?” Mai asks. She flashes a bright smile, but there is nothing but brutality in her eyes.
“I’m Sarah Jones with the L.A. Beat—”
“L.A. Beat?” Mai asks. “I own significant shares in that paper. Do you like working there?”
“Um… I do.”
“Good.”
“Miss Kimura—”
“We’re done here,” Mai says, smiling and raising her eyebrows. “No more questions.”
Sarah’s lips and chin tremble, and she blinks rapidly. Mai slowly turns to the cameraman, who quickly stops recording. Then, she turns back to Sarah and mean-mugs her.
Sarah gulps.
“Have a good… rest of your day, Miss Kimura,” Sarah says sheepishly.
Mai says nothing.
Sarah walks away, her cameraman following behind her. As they are walking back to their truck, she turns to her cameraman.
“Make sure you delete that last part,” she says. “Keep everything else.”
The cameraman nods his head. “Got it Sarah.”
*
Later that Evening
Penthouse Above Scandalous, DTLA
Jenny opens the door to the penthouse above her nightclub, Scandalous, a day after a successful PriceExpo. She is dressed in a black pantsuit and black red-bottom stilettos. She kicks her stilettos off—leaving them by the front door.
She is smacked in the face by heat as soon as she comes in, so she walks over to the thermostat by the door and sets it to “auto”. The central air conditioning system hums alive, bringing immediate relief.
Jenny’s penthouse has brick walls, along with a hardwood floor, and her father’s old piano sits all the way toward the large glass windows on the other side of the living room.
From the windows, she can see the sun setting, giving the sky a purple hue. She walks over to her sofa on her left and lays down. She pulls out her phone and checks the news aggregator, curious to see what people outside of the PriceCorp bubble had to say about the Expo. Instead, she sees a headline from the L.A. Beat that also catches her attention:
*
Kimura Allied Global CEO Mai Kimura Organizes Toy Drive in South Central. Defends Kimura Foundation Amid Controversies Surrounding Pardoned Villains—Says Jenny Price has Done Worse
*
The headline itself leaves a bad taste in Jenny’s mouth. She taps on the link. Once it opens, it only shows the video of Mai’s interview with Sarah—she taps “play”.
*
After watching it halfway, she turns it off.
“Mai has killed and hurt way more people,” Jenny thinks to herself, her eyes narrowing. “Who the Hell is she to judge?!”
Jenny sits up from the couch. She turns to the window. The Moon is out. She turns away and stares aimlessly at the floor.
“It appears she was trying to counter-program your Expo,” Naomi communes. “This level of pettiness should be expected from her.”
“Yeah, it’s obvious.”
Jenny shakes her head. “I’m gonna hit her where it hurts. Word on the street is she has another drug shipment coming in tonight.”
“Jenny I would advise against that. It could be a trap. Perhaps she is trying to bait you into making a reckless decision.”
Jenny’s lips curl into something menacing. “The peace treaty has been off for a while. I’ve been patient with her way too long, Naomi. I’m done playing games!”
“Is this about justice or revenge?”
“Why can’t it be both?!”
“Jenny, you cannot serve two masters—”
“Miss me with the self-help quotes Naomi!”
There is a beat.
“The Order will allow your disobedience this time,” Naomi says. “But don’t say I did not warn you about going to the Port.”
Jenny stands up. She takes a deep breath. Her eyes turn purple. She raises her right hand in the air and slowly lowers it down to her waist. She pixelates, and black and purple celestial energy envelop her body.
She looks different. Her bronze skin now a bluish gray; her hair black; her clothes replaced with a skin-tight suit, a purple cloak, cape, and face-mask.
“Whatever,” The Wraith says aloud. “I’ve got work to do.”
POOF!
She disappears and flies out into the night.
*
Port of Los Angeles
POOF!
The Wraith arrives at the Port of Los Angeles. It’s eerily quiet. Some crates are suspended in the air. She sees a row of large metal containers on the ground just a couple of feet away from her, all labeled “KIMURA ALLIED GLOBAL LLC”.
“Bingo,” she thinks to herself.
She walks over to the row, until she is stopped by a familiar voice.
“I was waiting for you to show up.”
The Wraith looks up. “Mai.”
Mai Kimura stands on top of the foremost metal container, looking down at The Wraith. She is wearing a sleeveless, red and black leather ninja suit with black boots.
She sits down in the ledge of the container and crosses her legs.
“You know,” Mai begins, “I was worried you wouldn’t make good on your promise to hit my shipments. I hate when people don’t keep their word.”
“My word?” The Wraith asks. “The peace treaty is a joke. It don’t exist. You’re the one who broke it!”
Mai laughs. The Wraith growls. Mai then jumps down from the container. The Wraith doesn’t even flinch.
“It wasn’t a good idea to come here without your talisman,” The Wraith says. “You know damn well you’re nothing without it.”
Mai sneers. “Nah, don’t need it. Not tonight.”
The Wraith tilts her head. “You sure about that?”
“You’re not going to kill me Wraith,” Mai taunts. “We both know it.”
They both stare each other down, standing just a few feet away from each other. The Wraith begins to tremor uncontrollably.
“Tina Madero will spend the rest of her life in prison,” The Wraith says. “Four people are dead because of you! Including an innocent woman!”
Mai folds her arms and smirks.
“None of that bothers you?!” The Wraith says.
“Who? Those wetbacks?” Mai jokes. “No one’s gonna miss them! They were all rats! It’s a shame Machete got caught though, it was fun watching her work. HAHAHAHA!”
The Wraith growls, her mind taking her back to the young man—the brother of Donkey’s late girlfriend—who nearly killed himself. She balls her fists and widens her stance—ready for a fight.
“But I did dedicate a poem to them,” Mai says. “You wanna hear it?”
“Say one more word,” The Wraith says. “I dare you.”
Mai clears her throat and recites her poem: “As I stack my riches/snitches get stitches/including their—"
“YOU MONSTER!!!” The Wraith rages.
She dashes toward Mai, grabs her by the neck, and slams her into the metal container behind her. She strangles her. Mai doesn’t struggle—she can’t—she just smiles.
“Wow,” Mai says. “You’re really gonna do it this time.”
The Wraith seethes and grits her teeth.
Mai continues: “I won’t lie, this is turning me on a bit! Choke me out Wraithy! So we can both go to Hell, and we’ll be together forever!”
The Wraith says nothing; her grip gets tighter.
“Jenny!” Naomi communes.
The Wraith says nothing.
“Jenny please! Control yourself! Don’t let her win!”
The Wraith says nothing.
Mai’s face starts to turn blue. She smiles.
“Jenny!!! Jen..nyyy!” Naomi’s voice begins to slow down.
As The Wraith stares into Mai’s eyes, strangling her, Mai’s face becomes fuzzy and distorted. The Wraith becomes lightheaded; her stomach begins to churn.
Mai laughs. “What’s wrong Wraithy? You look a little sick.”
The Wraith’s grip begins to loosen; she backs off and falls to the ground, on her buttocks. She rolls way from Mai, face to the ground, holding her head in pain.
Mai coughs. She turns to her left and sees another woman. The woman has her fingers on her temple; her gaze locked on The Wraith.
“Thank you Zoya,” Mai says, laughing and breathless. “That was a close one.”
The Wraith looks up. “Vertigo.”
Vertigo smiles. Vertigo is a tall, athletically-built Russian woman. Her jet black hair is tied in a fountain ponytail. She wears black skinny jeans, a utility belt, a black shirt with a white spiral in the middle of it, and a black tactical vest that is unzipped.
A helicopter appears above them.
CHUKKA! CHUKKA! CHUKKA!
Mai walks up to The Wraith, crouches down, and lifts her head up by the chin. They lock eyes.
“Have fun,” Mai says, smiling and rubbing The Wraith’s cheek.
The Wraith grumbles, powerless to do anything.
The helicopter lets down a ladder. Mai jumps on it; she climbs up and enters the helicopter before it flies away.
Vertigo stops her attack. The Wraith is still a bit dazed.
“Do you now see why you should have listened to me, Jenny?” Naomi communes.
The Wraith says nothing. She knows she’s right.
Vertigo slowly walks toward The Wraith, who is still on all fours trying to regain her bearings.
“I agreed to leave you and your people alone, Zoya,” The Wraith says, gritting her teeth.
Vertigo stops just a few inches away from The Wraith.
The Wraith turns to Vertigo. “What’s the meaning of this? Since when were you Mai’s little do-girl?”
“Sorry Wraith,” Vertigo says in a thick Russian accent, smiling. “I have job to do. Never personal, only business.”
Vertigo kicks The Wraith in the face sending her flying a few feet in the air and down to the ground—away from Mai’s crates. The Wraith gets up. She stretches her fingers forward attempting to form celestial tendrils, but as Vertigo places her hands on her temple again and gazes at The Wraith, nothing comes out.
“Ugh,” The Wraith groans, holding her head.
The Wraith stumbles and falls to the ground again. Her vision is fuzzy.
Vertigo slowly approaches her. She stops her attack, grabs The Wraith by her hood, and pulls her up. Then, Vertigo military presses The Wraith and throws her into a nearby crate.
“Gughh!” The Wraith grunts as her body slams into the crate. She falls to the floor below.
She tries to rise, her wounds healing. Vertigo’s gaze locks again—and the world tilts.
“Don’t get up, Wraith,” Vertigo says, grinning. “Just go sleep.”
The Wraith says nothing.
“Jenny,” Naomi communes. “Remember what I’ve taught—”
“Mind, will, and emotion. I know Naomi.”
“Her abilities are severing that link. Recite the epigram.”
The Wraith begins reciting her epigram:
*
Between shadow and light walks The Chosen Wraith
Bound to laws unseen, yet softened by mortal pain.
Her path is narrow, her heart the battlefield,
Her salvation awaits, but the call won’t yield.
*
The Wraith repeats it over and over again until a purple aura begins to surround her. Her body starts shaking violently.
“Pizdets!” Vertigo mumbles in Russian, hey eyes widening. “What is this?!”
The Wraith gets to her feet. Vertigo attempts to use her technique again, but it has no effect.
“Impossible!” Vertigo says.
Purple orbs begin to form around The Wraith’s fists. She flies toward Vertigo. As Vertigo tries to turn around and run, The Wraith’s fist slams into Vertigo’s face. Vertigo falls to the ground.
The Wraith gets on top of her and begins raining down punches to her face at lightning speed. As Vertigo closes her eyes and no longer fights back, she stops her assault. She leaves Vertigo on the floor—unconscious, bloody, and battered.
“I’m not done here,” The Wraith says to herself, panting heavily.
She flies in the air. She floats around until she sees Mai’s crates. Then, she fires a massive celestial blast at the entire row.
BOOM!
The crates explode, leaving a massive fire. The Wraith stares for a bit, watching the inferno.
“I’m coming for you, Mai. I will bring you to justice, no matter what it costs.”
She flies away into the night.