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The City of Viletown.
A wretched hive of scum and villainy, half-buried in wreckage with the other half littered with barbed wire and trenches. The center of the wicked Oppressor Plutonium’s attempt at world conquest, the city had been a war zone for so long that the rest of the world had surrendered the United States to deal with their homegrown tyrant.
But while most of Viletown lay in ruin, there was a single beacon in the dark. A lighthouse of normalcy that dared to resemble that found in the reflected city of Townsville.
Viletown Central Strip Mall.
An ultra modern, super stylish four-story complex housing the widest selection of clothes, gadgets, collectibles, and comics in the entire tri-state area. Maintained by a loyal crew of sycophants, the Mall was the city’s attempt to quell the wrath of its resident destroyers: the Powerpunk Girls!
Yes, though the “Perfect Little Monsters” were as dedicated as reluctant nepo babies possibly could be to supporting their wicked family business, they were still teenagers at heart. After the gate to Townsville became sustainable, the frequent trips to that world gave them an idea of the life in which they’d missed out. A month-long shit fit and a three-versus-one war that nearly destroyed the planet later, they reached a compromise with the Oppressor.
The Mall.
It was at that Mall that the Powerpunk Girls found themselves on a particular Tuesday night. Enjoying the comradery and sisterhood that came with spending time with the ones who’d known you from birth and would always, no matter what, have your back —
“Oh my FUCKING god, Bitchzerk, can you hurry up? I am soooooo bored!”
“Oh wow! What a fucking concept! Brat is bored! Hey Berserk, did you hear that? Brat’s bored!” Brute took a noisy sip from her soda and glared. “We must have missed it the last six times you said it!”
The duo were sitting next to the changing room of an otherwise deserted clothing store. Deserted, save for the terrified staffers, who were holed up behind the counter, only occasionally peeking out to ask if they needed anything. After narrowly dodging a loafer that went through the floor, they gave up and focused on their cowering.
Brute was sitting facing forward, elbows on her knees, chin perched on her knuckles. Her half-lidded eyes were locked on the changing room. There was a perpetual frown on her black lips, the corners of her mouth twitching every so often — when Brat snapped her gum. When Brat’s Messenger notification went off, when Brat whined about how long it was taking, and when Berserk —
“Hurry the fuuuuuuuck uuuuuuuuup! It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re going with,” Brat covered her mouth, muffling a dry heave before continuing, “Brick. Like who gives a shit? He’s a turd dog, he’ll probably wear that nasty hoodie.”
Brat was sitting two chairs away from Brute, draped horizontally across and kicking her feet. Her eyes were locked on the smart phone in her mitts, constantly tapping away at a slew of messages. She snicker-snorted and held her phone up. “Brute! Brute, Brute! You gotta like my new post! I just sent it, did you get it? Did you? It’s, like, so fucking funny. C’mon, do it!”
Sloooooowly, Brute’s eyes rolled toward her sister. Brat was staring at her, an insufferable, smug look on her face. Without breaking eye contact, Brute snatched her phone from her belt and unlocked the screen. Then, she looked down at it.
It was a picture of a toilet with a red ball cap. Next to it was a poorly edited sign that read in impact font: Berserk’s Dreamboat.
Despite her best attempts, Brute couldn’t help but snicker. “Fuck, okay. You got me.”
The two of them looked up when the curtain flew open. Berserk walked out in a ludicrously snug black dress with an even more scandalously low neckline. She placed a hand on her hip and thrust a mitt at Brat.
“First off, he’s a shit puppy. Get it right, or don’t use it. Second of all,” she pointed at Brute, “fuck you for encouraging her. Her memes are weak and you know it.” Then, she put her other hand on her hip and turned. “Also, what about this one?”
“No.”
“Girl, what made you think you could pull that off? You don’t have tits, you just look stupid.” Brat was already tapping away at her phone again with only a passing glance at her sister’s dress. “I’m telling you, just wear your usual shit. Why get dressed up if you know he’s too lazy to?”
Brute rolled her eyes. “You’re lazy. He’s a damn toilet boy.” She dropped her chin back onto her mitts. “Does he taste like shit, Berserk?”
To both her sisters’ chagrin, Berserk tapped her chin and leaned back against the frame of the changing room doorway. With an audible “Hmmm…” she tilted her head back and forth with a tiny smile.
“Nah, he tastes like cigarettes and beer.”
“Soooooo hot…”
“Fuck yeah, it is. Sometimes I can get buzzed just from making out.” With a dreamy sigh, Berserk tore the dress off and retreated back into the room, pulling the curtain closed behind her. “Fine. I’ll find something else.”
“NOOOOOOOO! I WANNA GOOOOOO!” Brat kicked her feet and threw her head back with a sonic scream that shattered the overhead lights and brought down a shower of glass on them. Then, with a growl, she shook her head and resumed texting. “She is never gonna let us leave.”
“Put down your phone and help or we’ll be here all night.”
“I will actually scream if you make me have to pretend this is real.” Brat stuck her tongue out again. “I don’t get it. She’s bland as fuck, but him? Why the fuck is he the one she’s into?”
“She is so out of his league it’s embarrassing.” Brute’s tone darkened. “It makes us look bad.”
“Maybe it’s a humiliation thing?”
“Huh?”
“Y’know, like some kinky shit. She gets off on dating someone who’s a pathetic, disgusting loser because it makes her look better. Maybe she’s into that?”
Brute shook her head and sat upright. “Brat, what the fuck are you talking about?” Her phone beeped. She looked down at the message. It was a picture of Blossom with a thin, brown-haired girl with blue eyes. She looked…fine? She didn’t really stand out, and Brute had no clue who she was, but, “Brat, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Brat rolled her eyes. “Ugh! You are so — okay, look at that chick. That’s Robin Snyder.”
“Uh huh. Okay, and I care why?”
“She’s Blossom’s girlfriend. They’ve been dating for like, four years or some shit, I dunno, that’s not important. She’s dating her.” Brat paused, waiting for a response. The only response she got was a blank stare, and a craned eyebrow. “UGH! She’s boring! She’s a random normie bitch! No powers, no money, god knows no style, holy shit. But Blossom is dating her.”
“Good for her. Why the fuck do you care?”
The blue punk screamed again. This time, she jumped from her seat to fly over to Brute’s side. Leaning over her shoulder, she pointed at the screen. “What do you notice about this picture, hmmm?”
“It’s Blossom and some chick.”
“Exactly! Blossom is the only one you notice. Yeah, she’s cute, okay, sure. And that dress really suits her, like the color coordination is so on point, it’s very nerdcore and she wears it great. Of course! Yeah! Whatever! But the point is, Robin over here — little Miss Bobbi for Apples — is soooo fucking boring and plain that she makes Blossom look waaaay hotter than she is.”
Finally, something clicked, and Brute tilted her head. “Shit. You’ve got a point.” Then, her eyes opened wide, and her mouth fell open. “Ooooh…thaaaaat’s what you mean about —”
Brat crossed her arms and nodded. “Berserk is doing the same thing, but since she’s not even half as cute as Blossom —”
“-- Cause she’s a dumb hoe?”
“-- cause she’s a dumb hoe, she had to settle for a SHIT PUPPY to make herself look hot.”
Brute threw herself back in her seat and crossed her arms.
“But, it doesn’t. It just makes us all look bad because he’s literally the biggest fucking failure in the multiverse. He’s never won a fair fight against his counterpart, he can’t spell for shit, and for some fucking reason, he’s got this…fucking unearned ego like he’s some kind of big shot.”
“Yeah.” Brat returned to her seat and started tapping again. “And he’s short and fat.”
“So are you.”
The tapping came to an abrupt halt. Brat’s head slooooooooowly turned, her body eventually moving with it, until she was perched in her seat like a cat ready to pounce. Blue flames raged in her eyes, and matching jolts of electricity crackled on her skin.
When she spoke, it was in a dangerous whisper. “First of all, how dare you.”
At the back of the store, the employees were hiding under the counter, heads in their hands, curled up as small as they could be. Whimpering, sobbing, saying their goodbyes to each other and wishing they could call their families. The walls rattled. Glass fell. Windows shattered.
Brute sipped her soda without breaking eye contact. “What?” Sip. “You are.” Sip. “You’re still hot.”
And like another switch flipping, Brat rolled over and resumed typing. Wearing a pout, but the corners of her mouth twitching toward a smile, she scoffed. “Yeah I am…” Eyes glancing toward the dressing room. “Bitch.”
The curtain opened again. This time, Berserk was wearing a floor-length, patchwork dress made of different band shirts. A bright pink sash with a comically large bow wrapped around her waist, and a wide-brimmed red hat on her head.
With a hilarious amount of unearned swagger, Berserk struck a pose and flashed them a sultry grin. “Well? How about this?”
Brute’s eyebrow craned, an unmasked grimace on her face.
Brat’s phone dangled from her mitts, then fell to the floor with a loud thud. “You’re trying to piss me off, aren’t you?” She asked in a monotone voice.
And, in what shouldn’t have been a surprise to either of them but somehow still was, Berserk spun around and struck a different pose.
“What? It’s so sexy you wanna kill yourself?” Another pose, leaning forward as if she had cleavage to show. “You can’t believe how hot I am?”
“Sis, I can’t do this.” Brute shook her head and massaged her forehead. “I can’t fucking do this. Brat,” she raised a mitt to stop her sister, “let me handle this.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, placed her mitts together, then pointed them at Berserk. “If you wear that in public, I will personally beat you to death with my bare hands.”
“Psh.” Berserk scoffed. She continued to stare expectantly at Brute, who stared back blankly, and Brat, who was pulling on her pigtails and fuming. “Seriously, how do I look?”
“You look like a middle-schooler’s mixtape threw up on a third-grader’s art project! You look like shit! Why do you do this?!” Brat dropped her phone entirely, flying over to grab Berserk’s shoulders. “Why are you so bad at this!? You are at least a seven! You can’t be dressing like A FUCKING TWO!”
“Really?” Berserk lifted the corners of her dress and twirled around. “But like, half of these albums are pretty sick. That’s gotta count for something right?”
“No one would look good wearing that dress, Berserk.” Brute said with a groan.
Brat nodded furiously and flew back a foot, crossing her arms and biting her lips to keep from either screaming or throwing up. The two of them stared at Berserk, watching their unhinged sister stroke her chin and look at herself in the mirror.
“I’m gonna ask Bubbles.”
“THE FUCK YOU ASKING HER FOR!?”
“She’s a social media celebrity, she knows about these things.” Berserk fished around in her discarded pants for her phone.
“So am I! I’m the biggest fucking influencer in our entire dimension!”
Berserk rolled her eyes. “She’s got thirty-two times as many followers as you.” She pulled her phone out, just for Brat to spike it through the floor.
“HER DIMENSION HAS MORE PEOPLE!”
The blue punk went silent when Berserk rose up to her full height, staring down at her with blazing eyes and smoke trails spilling from the corners of her mouth. She flinched when Berserk leaned down to her height and held out her mitt, an overly friendly, crooked smile on her face.
“Give me your phone. I know you have her contact info.”
“Fuck you.”
“You broke mine. Give. Me. Yours.” With each word, Berserk’s breath grew hotter. The pink of her eyes burst into flames, and her lips pulled back to reveal a shark tooth grin. “Now.”
“You don’t — Mm.” Brute cleared her throat and stood up. She forced her way into the shrinking, sweltering space between them. “Just let Brat pick out your dress.”
“What? No! I do not agree with this whole…thing!” Brat gestured at Berserk. “I’m not going to make her look nice if she’s going to waste it on fucking Brick Morningstar, ugh.”
Berserk shrugged and tore the dress off, tossing it over her shoulder. “Deal. If you bitches are never going to like anything I pick, dress me like one of those Continental United States Ladies dolls you still play with.” She held out her arms. “Make me hot, Brat.” Her eyes snapped open, and pink flames danced in her mouth. “Or I’ll make you hot.”
The blue punk was ready to protest, but found herself on the opposite end of both sisters. Brute was slowly shaking her head, waving her mitt across her throat. With a frustrated growl, Brat whipped around. “Fine! But you’re wearing what I pick and not bitching about it!” Then she disappeared in a blue streak.
Left alone with Berserk, Brute sighed and returned to her seat. Her sister remained outside of the changing room, lounging in the air in nothing but her underwear.
“Why are you the way you are?”
“Perfect?”
Brute laughed. “Yeah, perfectly fucking psycho. Why him, huh? The fuck are you doing wasting yourself on Brick Morningstar? He’s a loser.”
Berserk giggled and tapped her chin. “Yeaaah, he’s such a failure. You remember when I told you about how he tried to make me jealous by dating Prinny?”
“Yeah, like six fucking times because it keeps happening. I can’t decide what’s more pathetic. That Brick keeps thinking it’s going to work, or that Princess is either forgetting every time, or she just likes getting cucked by both of you.” She shuffled her feet and scowled. “Don’t you think it’s kind of pathetic? He’s only the leader of the Rowdyruff Boys because he’s got red hair. Butch and Boomer don’t even listen to him. You’re our leader, it makes us look bad if your standards are shit.”
“Bad to whom?” Berserk crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Who’s talking shit about us?”
“People.”
“What people?”
“...”
“What people, Brute?”
“...Me and Brat, okay? We think it makes us look bad when you get caught sucking face with that fat, little loser!” Brute’s voice trailed off. She sat up straight, watching Berserk slowly put her feet on the floor and walk up to her. She raised her head to look Berserk in the eye when she leaned down until their faces were nearly touching.
“And?” Just one word, spoken as if she were reading the telephone book as part of an interrogation. Nonchalant, but with the faintest hint of an edge and the scent of cinder.
“Back in the closet, bitch!” A blue streak collided with Berserk, knocking her back into the changing room. Brat, her arms laden with clothes, followed close behind and pulled the curtain shut. “Quit fucking squirming! If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right!”
“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! My fucking hair! Stop it!”
“Shut it!”
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing to my ribbon!?”
“I SAID SHUT IT!”
Brute listened to the back of forth continue for several minutes. She rattled her soda cup, sipping it desperately, hoping that anything remained. Unfortunately, she’d even run out of melted ice to drink. With a sigh, she tossed it over her shoulder and waited.
The curtain opened, and Berserk was shoved out. Her hair was brushed and styled, her ribbon staying put, framing her face, and her slender body draped in a ruby red dress.
Brat marched up beside her, took a bow and held her arms out to present her. “See? Now she’s an eight.”
The sisters watched Berserk observe herself in the mirror. Soon she was posing and making faces that were…maybe…supposed to be attractive. Then, she went and ruined it with a dreamy sigh. “Man, Brick is gonna fucking flip.”
Pushed to her breaking point, Brute finally growled in frustration and jumped to her feet. “Why? Why do you like that loser so much? He tries to steal your shit, like, all the time.
“And he’s getting better. He’s just a slow learner.”
“The two of you fight constantly.”
“I know! Hot, right? Do you know how much property damage we caused the last time we f—”
Brat gagged and shook her head. “No! Stop! I don’t…I just…” Instead of anger, Brat just sighed and shook her head. “You can do so much better.”
Berserk sighed again. “No. I really can’t.”
The punk duo stared at their swooning sister. She was once again posing in the mirror, only now she was muttering violent, convoluted pick up lines, like a horny librarian who moonlighted as a serial killer. Try as they might to understand, it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense, except—
“She’s just fucking insane.”
“Yup…fucking psycho.”
Berserk spun back around. “So we’re going with this one right? You think he’ll like it?”
Brat forced her lips into a thin line and elbowed Brute. The green punk cleared her throat and rubbed her arm. “Yeah, sure, Berserk. Gonna make him hard as fuck.”
“Gross..”
“Fuck yes! Okay, let me change, then we can get out of here. I need a beer or I’m going to burn this entire fucking mall down.” Without bothering with the curtain, Berserk started stripping and changing back to her original outfit.
Brat and Brute traded a glance. Sighing in unison, they agreed to stop questioning it. Within seconds, Berserk was ready, and the trio left the shop. As their tri-colored rainbow burst through the ceiling and cut across the Viletown skyline, there was one last point to be made.
“If, after all this, he wears that stupid fucking hoodie —”
“Oh, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“Good…”