Jenny's Office, PriceCorp HQ, DTLA
The Los Angeles sun's rays reach into the office, providing natural light. It's a normal morning at PriceCorp. Jenny Price sits down at her desk, slamming her fingers into her keyboard. The scent of expensive perfume covers the air.
Her eyes squint and she rubs her forehead with her fingers as she does her usual routine: Checking emails from shareholders and other executives, combing through HR complaints, and approving leave requests.
"Ugh," Jenny mutters.
"How is your morning going?" Naomi asks in silent communion.
"Same Jenny Price shit, different Jenny Price day."
"Well allow me to make it more interesting."
Jenny stops what she's doing at her computer, she places her hands on her desk. Her eyes bulge.
"Let me guess, another case?"
"Why not take a break from your travails and read the local news."
Jenny opens her desk drawer and grabs her PricePhone. She opens her news app, and scrolls through where she sees a headline that catches her attention:
*
Coachella Music Festival: Pop Sensation and Reformed Supervillain 'The Siren' Set to Perform at Coachella
*
Jenny gasps. She grits her teeth and squeezes her fists.
"What the Hell were they thinking?! The Siren? A music festival with thousands of people—thousands of men?! None of those things mix!"
"You know what must be done, Jenny."
Jenny sighs and nods her head.
She taps a button on her desk phone and picks up the headset.
"Bree," Jenny says. "You got a minute?"
Breyonna peeks through the door. She is dark-skinned, short, and chunky. She is wearing a pink hoodie, light blue jeans, and beige chelsea boots. Her natural Afro hair waft and sheened.
"Hey there Jenny," she says with a brace-filled smile. "Everything alright?"
Jenny gestures for her to come in. "Shut the door behind you."
Breyonna closes the door behind her. She scurries to Jenny's desk.
"Let me guess," Breyonna mumbles. "You've got some superhero—"
Breyonna catches herself as Jenny scowls at her.
Breyonna continues. "Uh… extracurricular stuff to take care of?"
"Yeah," Jenny says. "Siren's performing at Coachella. You know what that means."
"Wait a minute," Breyonna says. "She was pardoned, though. Wasn't she? Her and her manager."
"Mai Kimura got them pardoned," Jenny says, shaking her head.
Breyonna shudders, her eyes bulge, before she takes five deep breaths and her body relaxes. "I see."
Jenny continues shaking her head, she looks at Breyonna. "None of this sounds good."
Breyonna slowly shrugs her shoulders.
Jenny stands up from her desk.
"I need to get to Coachella ASAP. Look sis, I need you to hold it down like you always do. You know the drill—"
"You had a doctor's appointment and had to take off," Breyonna says, smiling and nodding her head and biting her lip. "I know the drill. And you have no meetings today."
"Good," Jenny says, smiling. "So no one's gonna miss me."
"Excuse me ma'am? I will!" Breyonna says, throwing her hands in the air. "Who am I gonna send GIFs to for the rest of the day? Ashwin?!"
Jenny shakes her head. Then, she raises her right hand in the air. Her green eyes begin glowing purple.
As Breyonna watches, her eyes widen. Her mouth is agape.
Jenny slowly lowers her hand down to her waist. As she does, a black and purple aura surrounds her body. Her skin turns a bluish-gray, her white maxi dress and stilettos give way to a black and tight-fitting body suit. A purple cloak and facemask wraps around her head and face.
"That… never gets old," Breyonna says, smiling.
"I've gotta go," The Wraith says, her voice now deeper.
"Be safe."
The Wraith disappears.
*
The Siren's Trailer, Empire Polo Club, Indio
Inside The Siren's trailer, she reclines languidly on the couch, her petite figure draped in a pink bodysuit adorned with a golden heart at the chest, a white fur cape spilling from her shoulders. Damp, shoulder-length blonde hair frames her face, still glistening from a recent shower. The air is thick with the luxurious aroma of expensive perfume, saturating the room with its opulent presence.
She is a young White woman in her early-twenties, with big blue eyes. Her "manager", Mark Stockman, kneels beside her manicuring her toenails. She is checking her Moxie account, when suddenly her cellular service is lost.
"Stockman!" The Siren shrieks, her voice squeaky and child-like. "Have you paid my phone bill yet?!"
"Sorry My Queen," Mark says, looking up. "We've been so busy preparing for—"
The Siren's palm slams across his cheek, causing Mark's head to snap. He rubs his cheek, tender and red.
"You worthless sack of shit!" The Siren scolds.
"Yes My Queen, I am a worthless sack of—"
"You had ONE JOB!!!"
"I did My Queen, no excuses—"
She throws her phone at his chest, he fumbles around with it in his hands, before eventually getting a grip on it.
"Well pay it!"
"Yes My Queen."
A man walks into the room.
"Hey Miss McNeil?"
The Siren sits up theatrically, running her fingers through her hair, remaining water droplets getting all over Mark.
"Yeeeess?" The Siren answers, with a faux smile on her face.
"You're on in 45 minutes."
"Thanks," The Siren says with a pearly white smile on her face, that quickly turns into a scowl. "Now get out!"
The man quickly shuts the door and leaves.
She reaches towards the table to her left and grabs it: A gold ring with a red, heart-shaped ruby on it. She places it on her right finger. The Siren smiles mischievously.
The Siren stands up, walks to the center of the room, and rubs her palms together.
"Mark, after today, this entire city will know my name: Serena McNeil! No one will be able to stop me, not even TheWraith! And my new simps will make me tons of money!"
"Yes my Queen, you will be wealthy and famous."
She sighs, as she lifts her hand and observes it. "This ring was the best thing that ever happened to me."
The Siren looks down at her toenails and she scrunches her face. Her face turns red as she looks back up at Stockman.
"Get on your knees right now," she demands, pointing at the ground, "and finish my toenails!"
Mark grabs the nail kit and does as he is told.
*
Skies above Metro Los Angeles
Now in her physical form, The Wraith soars through the air observing the cities and suburbs below.
"I knew that peace treaty was never gonna hold!" The Wraith laments in silent communion. "Mai has this Kimura Foundation thing, but I think it's all a front!"
"That's the right instinct," Naomi replies.
The Wraith sighs as she speeds towards Indio. The cities and suburbs give way to open, flat desert.
"It's a front to fund all of the supervillains!" The Wraith says. "We can't do anything to each other, but she can create messes for me to clean up!"
The Wraith's eyes narrow.
"And dealing with The Siren is gonna be a nightmare," The Wraith says. "She's a non-factor physically of course, but if she has, let's say, a hundred guys under her control—"
"That's a hundred people you have to save and stop from causing destruction without harming any of them."
"Every single time. You weren't lying when you said my day was gonna get interesting."
"But you've stopped her before, right Jenny?"
The Wraith sighs and closes her eyes. Although she is flying, her neck begins to feel stiff—as if her body itself is rejecting this case.
*
The Siren's Trailer, Empire Polo Club, Indio
The Siren stands in the center of her trailer as Mark Stockman ties her boots—white, made of leather, and knee-high.
"My Queen," Mark begins, "what about The Wraith? Won't she stop us again?"
The Siren smiles, cocky and confident. "You don't have anything to worry about, Stockman. Our new simps will handle that problem."
Stockman finishes her right boot and begins tying the left boot.
The Siren continues, smirking: "If she doesn't kill them all first. Stupid men, who cares if they die. And if she does kill them, well, let's just say she'scooked. HAHAHAHAHA!"
Someone knocks on the door.
The Siren stops laughing.
"Come in!" she yells.
A woman walks in wearing a t-shirt with the word "staff" on it.
"Miss McNeil?" the woman asks. "You're on in five minutes."
"Will my name be in lights like I asked?" The Siren asks, raising her eyebrows.
The woman sighs. "Yes, Miss McNeil."
"Good," The Siren says, smiling. "Because this will be my biggest show ever."
*
Festival, Empire Polo Club, Indio
The stage stood ready, bathed in the brilliant glow of the name "SERENA" blazing across it in dazzling lights. The outdoor air was dry and warm, laced with a restless breeze that carried the scent of dust and earth, mingling with the anticipation thrumming through the crowd.
Thousands of festival goers pressed together, their voices rising in a feverish chorus, chanting and screaming as the energy built toward its electrifying peak.
"SERENA! SERENA! SERENA!"
"WE LOVE YOU SERENA! WOOOOO!"
The Siren runs onto the stage with a big smile on her face, as she waves and blows kisses to the crowd. She steps in front of the microphone, attached to a stand. The Siren's posture is as strong as her personality: back straight, chest out, chin high. She looks out into the sea of adoring concertgoers.
"Coachella!" The Siren calls. "Are you ready for the show of a lifetime?!"
"YEAAAAAAAH!"
The Siren smiles, and suddenly her eyes glow white. The ring on her finger begins to glow as well. She knows she has the crowd right where she wants them.
"You belooooong to meeee!" she belts, in soprano.
Suddenly men across the audience develop glowing, pink eyes.
"We… belong to you… Serena…" the men in the audience collectively chant.
A woman watches her boyfriend fall into the trance.
"We… belong to you… Serena…" her boyfriend chants.
She slaps him across the face. He continues chanting. The woman gasps, her eyes widen.
"Alright simps!" The Siren shouts.
She points to a row of buses in the back.
"To L.A. we go! Gentlemen, start your engines!"
The buses' engines roar to life. Even the bus drivers are under The Siren's control.
Hundreds of men move in unison toward them—expressionless, pink eyes glowing faintly under the desert sun. Women shout, pull at arms, cry, and scream.
Suddenly—to the crowd below—a ripple moves across the clouds, like something tearing through the air itself.
The remaining women in the audience look up just in time to see a black-and-purple figure descend smoothly from the sky, cloak trailing behind her like smoke.
"It's The Wraith!" one of them says. "She's here to save us!"
The Wraith touches down gracefully on the dirt between the men and the buses.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" The Siren laughs.
The Wraith says nothing as men walk towards her.
"Well, well, well," she purrs into the mic, "if it isn't my biggest fan."
The men don't stop walking.
"Naomi," The Wraith says tightly in silent communion, her eyes widened. "They're not stopping."
"They won't," Naomi replies. "The mind control has already rooted. Singing or not, they're hers."
"Right."
"Let's see how many of them you can save, Wraithy," The Siren says into the microphone, her voice screeching from the sound system. "Better try not to kill any of them!"
The Wraith clenches her jaw, puts her hands together, closes her eyes, and suddenly, thousands of illusions emerge from her body. The Wraiths fly upwards, Celestial Tendrils emerge from their fingers—wrapping around the men in the audience.
"The exorcism technique won't work as long as she has The Ring," Naomi communes.
"I know," The Wraith replies. "I just need to get them all tied up, so they're not a threat to anyone. I really wish I didn't have to be here."
"There are many of them. You'll have to unyoke them one-by-one."
The Wraith groans theatrically.
"Please don't remind me, Naomi."
The main Wraith's face scrunches up, her skin sweaty and clammy from the heat of the desert sun. She tries to relax her face, but it's just not possible. Not in situations like these.
*
As The Wraith is finishing her work, the women begin running away. The Wraith sees them.
"Hey!" The Wraiths shout.
The women all turn around.
"Those bus drivers are most likely mind-controlled," The Wraiths advise. "It's not safe to go on them. Stay out in the field until I neutralize the threat."
The women stop in place.
"You're ruining my show!" The Siren shrieks over the microphone.
The Wraith grits her teeth, narrows her eyes, and covers her ears. "The sooner I can put an end to this and shut her up, the better. That shit is like nails on a chalkboard."
The Wraith turns toward the buses and notices a group of about ten of The Siren's "simps" slowly creeping toward the bus.
The Wraith sighs before she folds her hands again, and illusions retract back into her essence. She then flies toward the men, and uses her Celestial Tendrils to tie them all up as well.
*
With all of the men tied up, The Wraith flies back towards the stage. The Siren runs through the curtain upon seeing her. The Wraith turns invisible.
*
Trailer Lot, Empire Polo Club, Indio
As The Siren reaches the trailer lot, her gaze darts anxiously across the open space and her heart thumps. She knows The Wraith could appear at any moment, and the uncertainty keeps her on edge.
"Stockman!" The Siren screams. "Where the Hell are you!"
"My Queen!" Mark answers as he runs out of the trailer. "At your service!"
"We need to get out of—"
POOF!
The Wraith appears a few feet away from them.
"Going somewhere?" The Wraith asks, raising her eyebrows.
"You're obsessed with me!" The Siren mocks, folding her arms. "Admit it!"
The Wraith simply shakes her head, closes her eyes, and sighs. She opens her eyes.
"You did… whatever this was," The Wraith says, rubbing her chin before shaking her head minutely, "knowing cameras are everywhere. You even announced it on the news. Why?"
"You see Wraithy," The Siren says, "I've got friends now. Powerful friends. Which means, I can do whatever I want. And if I get arrested, I'll just get let out. Nooo problem!"
"Powerful friends? Like Mai Kimura? Do you have any idea who you're aligning yourself with?"
"Miss Kimura," The Siren boasts, a pearly white smile stretching from cheek to cheek, "is a patron of the arts. So go be a hater somewhere else!"
The Wraith closes her eyes for a beat, exhales audibly, and opens them. She can't believe how stupid this girl is.
"Besides," The Siren continues, smirking, "crime is no fun if no one knows who you are!"
"You're just a pawn in Mai's game," The Wraith chastises. "A peon! The minute you're not of any use to her she'll kill you! Or send you on suicide missions like this!"
"Me?! A peon?!" The Siren asks, gritting her teeth. "I'll have you know that I have ten million followers on Moxie—"
"You're not a criminal Serena," The Wraith interrupts, "not at all. You're just a traumatized little girl. That ring isn't gonna change that. You need help, not… this."
The Siren's face turns red. She balls her fists. She growls.
"What did you just call me?! Traumatized?! Little girl?! Stockman, handle my light work!"
"Yes My Queen!" Mark answers before charging at The Wraith. "Ahhhhh!"
The Wraith chuckles a bit, as she stands completely still as Stockman charges at him.
Once he gets with her range, The Wraith gives him a vicious backhand across the face, sending him flying.
The Siren growls. "Good for nothing idiot!"
She looks at The Wraith, and begins shaking. The Wraith begins to slowly walk towards her.
"Hey, uh, Wraith?" The Siren asks. "Hey, forget about all that stuff I said earlier! If you let me go, you'll get tickets to my next show!"
The Wraith continues walking towards her.
"Screw this!" The Siren curses.
The Siren attempts to run away, but The Wraith stretches her right hand forward and tendrils emerge from each finger. The tendrils wrap around The Siren's ankle, and she trips and falls flat on her face.
"Ow!" The Siren cries.
The Wraith walks over to her and crouches down.
"It's over," The Wraith coldly says, before grabbing her right arm.
"No!" The Siren begs, attempting to slap her away with her free arm. "Let me go! Don't take it away, please!"
The Wraith pulls the ring off her finger. The Siren lays down on the floor, weeping like a baby.
*
Festival, Empire Polo Club, Indio
Onstage, the glowing letters spelling out The Siren's name continued to flicker. Throughout the festival grounds, a subtle shift swept over the crowd as the men's eyes slowly began to return to their normal states.
"Whoa," one man says, "what happened?"
"Where's my wife?" another asks.
"Joey?!" the man's wife says.
"Sara?" he asks. "What—"
Sara runs up to him, hugging and kissing him.
All around the festival, people are reunited with their friends and loved ones. Just then, police sirens rip through the air.
*
Trailer Lot, Empire Polo Club, Indio
As The Wraith stands over a restrained and crying Siren in the trailer lot, police cars circle around to the back and park. She knows that that's her cue to leave.
POOF!
She turns invisible and flies away.
*
Later that night…
Living Room, Mai's Penthouse, Kimura Tower, Chinatown
Mai's living room is massive, all of its walls are painted red. Even the furniture is red. Japanese paintings, katanas, and tessen hang on the walls. Portraits of Mai adorn the walls as well. The smell of cigar smoke fills the air, as Mai lounges on her couch smoking one. Mai is wearing a silky red robe, her black hair let down, watching the local news.
POOF!
The Wraith materializes behind her, just mere feet away.
Mai doesn't flinch or turn around.
"You know," Mai says, sitting up, "we really ought to do something about these… intrusions."
POOF!
The Wraith materializes right in front of Mai. Mai doesn't move, she takes another drag of the cigar and holds it.
"I guess honoring a peace treaty was too much of an ask," The Wraith says.
Mai blows the smoke in The Wraith's face. Mai coughs twice before she grabs the remote and turns the TV off, her eyes locked on The Wraith's.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mai says, shaking her head, smirking, and hitting the cigar.
"Wipe that look off your face," The Wraith says. "The Siren. Coachella. I know that was you. Is that why you got her pardoned? And gave her that ring back?"
Mai puts the cigar down on the ashtray. As if the smirk is permanently locked on her face, she looks back up at The Wraith.
"The Kimura Foundation," Mai begins, "is a non-profit that helps give convicts a second chance at life. We are not responsible if they relapse—"
"Save that bullshit for the press!" The Wraith commands. "You and I know what's really going on here!"
Mai stands up and gets in The Wraith's face. Her smile quickly turns to a grimace. "Watch your fucking tone in my house, ghost girl."
"If you pull anymore stunts like this," The Wraith says, shaking her head, "the treaty's off. And I start hitting your shipments again."
"HAHAHA!" Mai laughs.
"I'm funny to you?!" The Wraith growls, squeezing her fists.
Mai sits back down, she grabs the cigar from the ashtray and puts it back between her lips. She picks up a lighter off the table and lights the cigar, inhaling and blowing out a puff of smoke in The Wraith's direction.
Mai lays down.
"I don't know what stunts you're talking about Wraith," Mai says. "But you can hit my shipments. Then I'll just beat you up, and things will get fun again. I've been bored."
The Wraith says nothing.
Mai snickers. "Did you really think that I got The Siren pardoned knowing she'd use that ring again, just to fuck with you? That's actually a good idea. I should try it sometime. HAHA!"
The Wraith's fists begin to tremble violently.
"I can't wait until this city sees who you really are," The Wraith hisses.
Mai blows smoke out her mouth.
"Who me?" Mai asks in a smooth tone. "A woman of color from the streets of L.A. who made something out of nothing? That's who they see me as. I'm the real hero, no masks needed."
There is silence.
"You're free to leave whenever you're done with these stupid ass questions," Mai taunts.
The Wraith's eyes narrow. "I'm warning you Mai. If this happens again, the treaty's off."
Mai looks at The Wraith. She flashes a pearly white smile, but her eyes were fierce and angry. "Don't threaten me with a good time, sweetie."
POOF!
The Wraith is gone.