Created by: Bill Dickson
Current author: Bill Dickson
She barely made it eight steps before the injured agent brought her down in a flying tackle. "You're not going anywhere, Missy," he growled as she twisted her head around to look at him. Suddenly, his vision blurred and he swayed drunkenly.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Special Special Agent Richard Less as he stooped down and pinned her arms. "Phoot, get over here! Carson's hurt!"
"Well, he shouldn't have let that little punk stab him," sneered the pimply-faced archless villain. Reaching into his pizza box, he withdrew a powerful tranquilizing slice. "Open wide," he grinned, holding Sister Death's nose shut.
Carson's eyes rolled back in his head, a trickle of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. Losing his grip on Sister Death, he slumped to the sidewalk. She immediately began to struggle against Less's hold, still looking at Carson's quivering form.
"What, is she breathing through her ears?!" shrieked FlatPhoot as she steadfastly held her mouth shut. "Grant, get over here! Pry her mouth open!"
Grant reached down and placed his fingers on either side of Sister Death's jaw, squeezing hard. With a whimper, she opened her mouth slightly and FlatPhoot shoved the pizza slice inside triumphantly.
"Hah! That stuff would fell an elephant in a second flat-"
She spat it out and twisted her head toward Less, staring at his leg.
"Oh, Jesus," muttered the Special Special Agent, releasing her and clutching his temples. She twisted out of Grant's grasp and tried to run. He took a hard swipe at her with a stun stick; it struck her in the small of the back, and with a quiet gasp, she fell to the street and stopped moving.
"Less! Less, what's the matter with you!" FlatPhoot waved a slice of anchovy, skunk cabbage and quintuple garlic pizza under his nose, snapping him rudely back to full consciousness.
"Oh no...Carson's dead," said Grant, checking his partner's pulse. "He's dead! The knife-"
"No," said Less. "The knife wasn't poisoned." He walked slowly over to Sister Death and rolled her over onto her back with his toe. "It was her, somehow. And she nearly got me, too."
"Well," grinned FlatPhoot, "perhaps our little quarry will make the test run an interesting one after all."
Notes: Sister Death would have been Mr. Bad Example's masterpiece to date, but her development was interrupted at a crucial time when Team Cynical broke up her creator's "villain factory." The result was that her mind never fully formed. She has survival instincts and basic animal emotions -- fear, trust, loneliness, etc. -- but no intellect. She has learned that killing brings undue attention, and avoids it when she can, but when frightened will quickly kill anybody or anything she perceives as a threat.
Known powers: Despite her small size and waifish, helpless appearance -- and partly because of them -- Sister Death may well be one of the deadliest people alive. She far exceeded Mr. Bad Example's design parameters. She need not eat, drink, or breathe, and she quickly regenerates from nearly any wound. She feeds off the life-force of other living things, and can leech it away from anything she can see. Her victims are usually entirely unaware not only of the source of the attack, but of what is happening to them -- they simply begin to feel weak and dizzy, then fall unconscious, and several seconds later, they stop breathing.
Fortunately, she does not have to kill to survive. She can draw small pieces of life force from many living things to sustain herself; they will simply feel tired and headachy afterwards. She has learned to feed in this manner to prevent people from paying too much attention to her.
Description: 5' 2", about 90 pounds, fair skin, short black hair. She understands clothing only so far as it keeps her warm, so she'll wear anything that accomplishes that task. She does not look healthy. Most people would guess her age at 14; a doctor performing an exam would guess closer to 17.
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