Astrea Starr sat in the darkened theater, munching her popcorn.

She had never seen Frankenstein - in any of its versions - and might have skipped this one, too, save for it was about the only way she'd get to see Jason on a weekday night.

She knew it shouldn't bother her that much, since she often went out as Americana, but something had to give if they were going to have any kind of a normal life.

Astrea has to grin at that. "Normal".

As if.

She had to admit, for a Halloween feature, this was a good choice. It wasn't one of those horror splatterfests that came out at this time every year. This was actually well-filmed, almost classy.

Take, for instance, the monster's pursuit of Victor Frankenstein across the Arctic... wastes...

The ice... ice was everywhere! The monster - it -it was coming closer - right out of the screen!

Astrea didn't know why, but suddenly she was struck by cruel dark terror, terror such as she had never known!

She bolted for the door - but so did the other seventy patrons!

People filled the aisles all the way to the back of the theater! Patrons scrambled over seats trying to beat the mob to the exits!

Jason came running out of the projection booth and into the lobby. "Hey. Hey! What's going on?"

Astrea's senses reeled. What was going on? Why was she so terrified - and why were so many of the audience even more horrified than she?

She ducked into Jason's office and slammed the door, gasping. she looked around for something to pile up against the door!

While she still had the presence of mind, before she could succumb to the horrors once more, she threw out her arms and legs and concentrated.

Instantly a white burst of energy, in the shape of a star, appeared on her chest. It flashed outward, enveloping Astrea Starr. When it flashed back, there for only a moment stood the most powerful woman on Earth.

Americana raced into the darkened theater as the film still ran. On screen, the monster was lumbering across the ice, but she feared neither monster nor ice.

Nor darkness, for that matter. Her starsight gave her the ability to see as well in darkness as in daylight. Granted, the projector interfered with her vision somewhat - it probably had something to do with the constant adjustment to the picture - but she could see well enough to spy someone up on the catwalk.

She frowned. Jason had supposedly locked the doors and blockaded access to the rickety catwalk. He had said it too old and dangerous to risk going out and changing the lights.

It looked like someone just didn't take the hint.

Americana smiled grimly and rose up off the floor. She shot up three stories to the catwalk, flipping over the railing to land on her feet.

Heh - she hadn't flown in weeks, and the little acrobatic touch wasn't exactly neccessary, but it felt good to let a little loose with her powers.

As she landed gracefully on the catwalk, she got a clearer view of the mysterious visitor. It was... a cheerleader?

She was wearing a little black and orange miniskirt and a black sweater trimmed in orange. She even wore black sneakers and orange socks - very Halloweenish, Americana decided.

But what got Americana's attention was instead of her face, there was a skull.

The large holes for the eyes seemed to be bottomless baskets of pitch, and her teeth snapped and clacked in a way that was most unnerving.

It had to be a mask... or painted on... but Americana stared.

She felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.

How could that be? She was actually afraid of a cheerleader?

"Holy - Americana?!"

The heroine shook off her fear; the skull faded to face paint.

Whew. What was that?

"Couldn't wait for the game Friday night?" Americana smiled took a few steps forward. "You know who I am..."

The woman turned, revealing an impressive chest and long, thin legs. Black legs, Americana noted. About the same age, too.

The spectral cheerleader held what appeared to be some kind of... squirt gun. There was a massive glass bottle on top of it, filled with some kind of murky liquid.

She spun the weapon around in front of her, struggling to hold it steady with both hands.

"I... I am the Fearleader! Give me an S - for scared!"

Americana noted some sort of mist shot out of her sleeve. Was... this stuff supposed to do something or - ?

The Fearleader hesitated. "You... aren't... terrified?"

"I do feel a vague sense of unease," Americana smiled. "Let me guess, you're the reason the audience left the building!"

"My Fearomones, yes!" she said, brandishing the gun. "I... just wanted to test them..."

Americana sighed. Why is it every time people wanted to try out a new invention, they had to put on a costume? Didn't anyone use Underwriter's Laboratories anymore?

The heroine gently pushed the nozzle aside. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to figure it out in jail - "

"No!" the Fearleader cried. "No jail!"

Her arm jerked up, unleshing another gob of mist!

Americana bit her lip and desperately willed herself not to turn tail and run. Stupid stupid stupid!

The girl in the miniskirt turned and ran!

Oh, no, you don't, thought Americana, fighting the terror that rose like bile in her throat. She leapt over Fearleader's head, twisted, and landed forcefully on the catwalk.

"Game over, honey," Americana growled. She grabbed for the girl, not willing to risk punching her off the catwalk.

But Fearleader turned as Americana made the grab for her; Americana's hand smashed through the glass jar!

Instantly Americana realized what must be in the jar - Fearomones! A sudden, stark terror took hold of her, and she reflexively jerked her hand up, as if to ward off the phantoms gripping for her mind.

But she inadvertently lifted the jar as well - and doused herself in the remaining Fearomones!

She screamed! Furious phantasms and terrifying spectres whipped around her body while unspeakable cruelties were done to her family as she was forced to eat pieces of Jason -alive! - and a thousand razors stripped the flesh from her body on millimeter thick at the time and -

Unable to take any more, her body shut down.

Already unconscious, Americana tumbled over the handrail and plummeted three stories to the stage below!

She crashed through the stage, shattering the old wood into splinters... and lay there, unmoving.

"Ohhh-h-hh.... "

Americana awoke, shaking.

Those terrible things - they weren't happening!

They... weren't... happening...

The heroine panted, lying still. There. There. Nothing had happened... nothing...

She was tied up! In ropes and what looked like swing set chains.

Aa-a-ahh - swing set chains!

Stop! she angrily admonished herself, closing her eyes.

Breathe deep... deep breaths. Okay.

"Oh! You're awake!"

Americana reflexively turned toward the voice - and a scream lodged in her throat.

The skull face - it was floating in front of her and transforming into all sorts of -

She screwed her eyes shut.Stop it stop it stop it!

It's not real. It's. Not. Real.

Americana lay panting on the floor, her costume soaked with sweat.

"Boy - you really got a dose," the skull girl muttered.

The heroine's eyes opened slowly.

"All... right... Fearleader," Americana gulped for air. "Your... little trick... works."

"Look, that was an accident! Nobody was supposed to get hurt!"

"Uh... huh," the heroine grunted. Geez, she couldn't even look at the fearful cheerleader without her heart rate shooting through the roof!

But she certainly didn't talk like a supervillain, Americana thought - or much like a stereotypical cheerleader, for that matter.

"Not hurt... huh? You always... knock out heroines?"

The Fearleader exhaled in frustration. "I told you - it was an accident! You got your arm stuck, and dumped all my Fearomones on you!"

"The... ropes?" Americana grimaced as she counted down from fifty, backward.

"For crying out loud, I was afraid I'd killed you!"

Twenty eight, twenty seven, twenty six...

Americana bit her tongue. She could beat this...

"I just... well, I couldn't take a chance of you waking up free... "

"Sure," Americana smirked. "All the supervillains say that."

"Y-yes! I'm a supervillain! Darned powerful, too!"

Wait a minure, the heroine thought. Fearomones. Where had she heard that before?

"Y-you better just watch yourself, missy, or - "

"Or what?" Americana smiled slyly. "Marcy?"

The skull face - dropped.

"Wh- how - "

She wore a purple jacket... purple...

"You went to... Cumberland, right?"

The Fearleader started backing away.

Americana smiled. Marcy... Conners? Conrad? She had been at the science fair back in high school - took third place with that Fearomone stuff, even though it wasn't nearly as strong as the liquid Americana had gotten doused with.

What do you know?

The cheerleader's face, hidden behind that awful makeup, still betrayed her fear. After a moment's hesitation she whirled and ran!

Only to have Americana land in front of her, casually bursting her bonds.

She smiled. "You didn't really think that was supposed to hold me, right?"

She casually swatted her fearsome foe, sending her flying back in an arc. When the Fearleader hit the floor she bounced twice... then a tennis ball rolled from beneath her sweater.

Americana knelt down, picked up the ball and grinned.

Game and match.

Slowly, Fearleader came around.

"Wh-whuh -?" she blinked.

Americana crouched next to her.

"Hey."

Fearleader's head jerked left and right. She was still in her lab.

And judging from the sunlight seeping through the windows, she had been out for quite awhile.

"Wh - why aren't I... in jail?"

"I've been thinking," Americana said, holding up a washcloth. "While I was getting that awful makeup off of your face. I know what it's like, not having anyone believe in you."

The girl touched her face - she was just plain Marcy Conrad again.

"You know... oh, God... "

Americana sighed. "Yeah."

Marcy's lip trembled.

"I - I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... "

"I know," Americana said softly. "But you could have easily killed someone with those Fearomones. Forget the dousing, think of all those people running for narrow exits."

Marcy nodded and blinked back tears. "I... yes... "

"Good," Americana sighed. "You're smart enough to know that, at least. Come on, sit up... I won't hit you."

Marcy sat up, shaking. "What are you gonna... do to me?

"Now, I had a little time to think about this. You've been working on these Fearomones since high school, right? Tried to sell military, police on the idea of crowd control, right? Spray them instead of shoot them?"

"Yeah. Tried."

"Ever hear of a man called Cleveland Archer? What do you say I introduce you? If he doesn't have a place for you and these... Fearomones... I'm sure he'd know who would."

The girl sat there... and blinked.

"L-lo-o-k..." she said slowly. "I... didn't I just almost kill you, or something?"

Americana sat back and ran her finger behind her ear.

"I thought we agreed that was an accident. Look, I'm not letting you totally off the hook. You'll have to make it up to that theater owner, who's out sixty, seventy admissions... "

"And the stage," Fearleader murmured.

"The stage?"

"You put a hole in it when you fell," the girl smiled wanly. "Pain to drag you out of. I almost left you there."

"Heh." Americana allowed herself the barest of smiles. It was kind of funny.

Marcy paused and absently rubbed her jaw.

She looked up at Americana.

"W-why?"

"Hmm?"

"Why... are you doing this? Why not just dump me in jail or something?"

Americana paused.

Because there but for the grace of God go I?

"I don't know, exactly. Maybe I see someone who just took a wrong turn, who maybe deserves a second shot. You didn't really harm anyone, and... well, I have enough enemies.

"Of course, I want something in return. Never wear that outfit again."

She held out the tennis ball and smiled. "You aren't really the cheerleader type, anyway."

Marcy nodded, a tad embarassed.

After a few awkward seconds, she spoke,

"Uh, you hungry?"

"Yeah," Americana said, suddenly aware that she hadn't eaten anything since the movies.

The girl walked over to the refrigerator tucked under the lab table. "Bacon and eggs OK? I have a little ham, too."

"That's fine," Americana said. "But where - "

Marcy turned on a bunsen burner and pulled out a frying pan. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing," the heroine said, tossing aside the tennis ball.

Game and match?

The game was just beginning.