In a London not too dissimilar to our own, Electroclash (superhero power: controlling machines with her voice) and She-Force (the third strongest woman in the world, albeit incredibly needy) are standing outside a superhero convention. “Stop sulking,” She-Force urges Electroclash. “Meeting the fans is part of our job.” “Violence is our job,” Electroclash replies scornfully, drawing on a fag. “Equipping is our job. Hanging out with a bunch of sweaty knuckle. . . ” but her abusive lips switch quickly to a charming smile as two geeks from the Brentwood Powerfan Society open the door with lascivious glee. “Here’s your appearance money,” leers one. “Do you want to count it? Like a prostitute?”
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