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I.

Usually, I'm not a morning person. I tend to exhaust myself during the day, and I need to get some sleep in the night in order to perform well the following day. That's even more important when you're a superhero like me. Your body not only uses more energy and power, especially in battles against evil, than those of mortal people, but it also requires more energy and power to sustain itself on a daily basis. So a good night's sleep is as essential for the regaining of lost energy and power among we heroes as it is for anyone else.

Perhaps even more than that.

As a result, you can understand, very clearly, why I was so irritated when my bedside phone began to ring, at who knows what hour.

I was prepared to give a verbal volley to whomever it was that had woken me up, for good reason, if it happened to be someone trying to sell me something. I hate those people.

But it wasn't.

Duty called.

In the form of a good friend of mine. Who informed me of an urgent need for my superhero services, and would I meet with her and our other friends to discuss it ASAP, at our normal rendezvous point?

Yes, I would.

Because nothing wakes a superhero up, even in the middle of the night, than a stated need or desire by someone else to perform their duty and use their superpowers, however it was they were acquired, in the name of the greater good.

It's even better than coffee.

So, drawing myself out of my bed, I quickly changed from my secret identity- mild mannered, blue eyed eight year old Gerda Munsinger- to my superhero one. Muscle Girl, the smartest, fastest, strongest and most agile preadolescent girl in the universe. After donning my silver, pink and white monogrammed and caped uniform, I tiptoed quietly out of my house, so as not to disturb my sleeping parents. Then, once I was outside in the nearest park, I flew off into the sky.

*

When I first became a superhero, after I emigrated to Earth with my parents, I naively assumed that- other than the ones in the comics and movies, of course- I was the only one of my kind, and the only one to have the necessary burden of protecting the oppressed for exploitation and the decent from the threat of depravity. But I couldn't have been more wrong. There are dozens of others like me, of all kinds of beings. And, while I don't know all of them personally (contrary to what you might think), I am very close to a handful of ladies whom I befriended through working together closely with them. We call ourselves the International League Of Girls With Guns (meaning muscles, not firearms), or ILGWG for short.

I know. It's not the best name in the world. Don't blame me; I didn't pick it. But the other options were just as bad, if not worse.

Anyway, I'm digressing....

Since it doesn't take long for individuals with highly enhanced speed to get anywhere, we were soon assembled.

Most of us, anyway.

Present and accounted for were:

-Cerberus, the world's mightiest puppy, whose permanently immature Dalmatian body hid enormous physical power and a highly wise mind;

-Candy Girl, the world's most powerful teenage girl, empowered by a glowing emerald ring she kept steady on one of her middle fingers;

-and the Brat, an alien like myself, appearing to be a preschool aged blonde haired blue eyed kid, but, in reality, a formidable half-organic, half-mechanical from a planet full of same.