superhero costumes - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Trina read the new spec; everything black, no cape, warm in the arctic, cold at the equator, removable in under three minutes, able to withstand shockwaves at close range, manly. She sighed. It had to be as insulated as an arctic snowsuit and as porous as summer linens. This hero was going supersonic around the globe, likely a bomb specialist with a feminine streak, hence the request to look macho. She flicked through her fabric catalogues, no ideas coming to mind. She's had her evening planned, just her and some old Columbo episodes, some fine wine and her foot massager. Darn it all. There would be no sleep until this problem was fixed. The due date was tight, as always and she had never failed yet. Impossible costumes is what she did. Fail once and that impostor Tarla might get the next contract, that bimbo!
The superhero paused in front of the newly extinguished building with a child in her arms, smoke curling in furious eddies behind her and her visor reflecting the blue of the firetruck lights. When the cameras had reeled off a hundred shots in rapid-fire mode she ran forwards to a waiting paramedic to empty her arms. She blew an icy breeze into the small victim to cool her lungs and then with an exaggerated movement of her hand she drew out the smoke particles that had lodged in her lungs. From a TV crew came a brilliant white spotlight. Her costume that had seemed burgundy now shone scarlet in the new light, on her chest was a snowflake. Her hands were gloved in the same hue and her black boots laced right up to just below the knee. She pulled off her helmet to release a cascade of red hair, poker straight and right down to her waist. Her face though was still hidden behind a mask that could belong to an opera singer, beautiful, but no doubt was as bullet proof as the rest of it.
The design specifications were outrageous; flame resistant, bullet proof, repels electric pulses, melts ice and sexy. Apparently the last point was non-negotiable. Trina licked her lips, instantly regretting removing some of her designer lipstick. All of these things separately were no problem at all, but the combination presented a challenge. She would succeed of course, there was never any doubt about that, but she could see her evenings watching her pre-recorded shows disappearing from her life for a while. She ran her fingers over the money transfer order, it was a tidy sum. The Organization wanted this hero protected, she wondered if the demand to look good came from them or the hero. These things had always been done below the radar, no photos, no mentions, just another bizarre "baby falls from building and is fine" story to fill the middle pages.
The Flame had always been somewhat on the short side for a hero and it irked him. It was time for a costume that did more than show off muscles and he wasn't thinking of platform shoes. He had a lot of credits for saving both people and property, some from assisting in military operations, and now he wanted to trade them in for a cyber-suit. He'd have to change his moniker of course, he'd be a metallic giant, able to shoot lasers and missiles with just a lazy flick of his arm. They'd have to leave his palms blank of course; he wouldn't need to shoot flame anymore but without a way to release it in times of tension he could fry himself from the inside. The Flame wasn't any good at drawing plans so he flew to headquarters, if anyone could make this it would be Vergil...
It was 2230 and the new superheroes were yesteryears ordinary citizens. The superheroes had been either wiped out or were now held in fortified prisons by the Emperor under the auspices of protection. It had been ten years since the new mind reading computers had been woven into fashionable cloth caps and it was a crime not to wear one unless it was your designated time slot to shower at the monitored baths in town. Removal of the hat mean a tick in a remote database that identified you as a terrorist likely to bring down the state. So the superhero costume designers set about making a suit that would do everything the old suits did plus send out a banal thought pattern whilst blocking your real thoughts. The problem was only thinking about it in the shower. And how do create it without thinking about it? How to find the new heroes? After a time one designer cracked the first problem, he changed his entire vocabulary so that his thoughts became encrypted...
From the rubble stepped a man in what looked like women's gym clothes. It was glittering spandex of sorts and on his back was the torn remnants of his cape. Trina tutted, paused the footage and zoomed her screen in on the fabric. It was something cheap from a department store! There were rips and scorch marks, not even fire proof! Everybody had to know this wasn't her handiwork, but before she got to her computer a new order had come through. It was for "Rubble-man" as she'd nicknamed him. The spec read "sparkles, glitter, black, skin-tight, flame-resistant, bullet proof, cape." She scrunched it up in her manicured hand and tossed it into the gas fire. She knew what he wanted, he didn't know, that's alright, he was just confused. He would get a costume that flowed like molten lead and was both transparent from the inside and fully breathable. He would look like a being made only of metal with no features at all. It would repel fire, bullets, radiation, electricity and shock waves.
Stealth black, lurid clashing colours, high contrast, camouflage, skin tight lycra, spandex, flame proof, thermal underwear, combat gloves, tight fitting, form fitting one piece, utility belt, cape, heat shield undergarments, computer wrist band, force field, mask, face-like mask, knee high boots, grippy shoes, jet pack, suction cup gloves.