Belly Punching Damsels

Belly Punishment: Red Scorpion style

The Red Scorpion, Devil Scorpion, Black Scorpion have one thing in common: total
nastiness. You have the Black Scorpion (an African American babe), Devil Scorpion
(a white babe), and the Latina Red Scorpion--who probably does not represent her
community all too well. Like her fellow scorpies, she is an excellent fighter, but does
not hesitate to take the short cuts. Worse than the others, Red Scorpion can carry
out her nastiness in her publishing press! As you can see from our rating on on Bad
Girls' list, she has a solid place among her sisters Super Femmes.
You could see much of her nastiness when she fought it out with the ultra criminal
genius known as the Organizer--who is the principle foe of Clover Comics' Nomad.
Now why they are tussling is a long story--which has little to do with his criminal
endeavors. If you'll notice from this passage, he was just clobbered by another Super
Femme, also dressed in red, also known as Nomad. Unlike her unrelated namesake,
she cannot lift bulldozers, nor has missile-proof skin. She's about Red Scorpion's equal
in build and fighting skill--and more than enough for the fragile 6 foot 4, 160 lb. brainiac.
For some reason, he allowed this mystery girl to beat him to a pulp! And, later on, he's
seen duking it out with the more diminutive Crimson Hawk-who is all of five feet tall--who
also dresses in an all-red outfit! You figure it!

	His lengthy, rail-like body curled around her, catching sight of her hefty, quivering rump girded by that small skirt tinted blood-red from the light. She was relentless in her beating, pounding her fist into his side and back.

One of the guards standing just outside the door of room, looked through one of the cracks
of the wall of wood slants. The sounds of the the intruder's fists as they struck into their master's
head and body were quite unnerving, as the victim could barely defend himself. Even more
disturbing was the sight of the intruder twisting his long arm behind his back, pummeling his
stomach with her free fist. The guard turned his questioning glance to the other, who merely
shrugged his shoulders.
The small, ragged room was filled of her rawness and gasps for air, as she now
rested from her one-sided battle. His pain was worsened by his forced submission.
Even as he tried crawling away, she taunted him, foiling his efforts, by kicking him
in the side and stomach.

This is a portion of the unusual beginning of Scorpy's novella;
as you can see, that's Nomad dominating the Organizer in the
background, as the paragraph sets the scene for an entirely
unrelated matter. We aren't really suppose to notice that back-
ground scene.


Image1 Studios New Cities Studios Farrand Press Leara Press BlackStar Publications Red Scorpion Press Demolisher Studios Espionage E-zines Private Detective *E-Mail*

Red Scorpion

Blind Justice

While driving through the backwoods in northeast Long Island, the couple had seen
the elderly man stumbling from the woods to the road. It was plain to see tat he was wounded
as he tried to wave them down, standing in the middle of the road. As they slowed the car,
he fell to the ground, completely exhausted. They came to him, seeing if they could help
him, but it was plain that he had been shot in the side of the neck and was bleeding profusely.
Yet, instead of identifying the cause of his trouble, all he could whisper was the number '78.'
"78 was the number," were his dying whispers, "..78.."

From the rooftop of an apartment building , Emilia watched her through the high-powered set
of binoculars. The subject of her continuous, current study was none other than the publisher and
CEO of the esteemed Trupiano Gazette, Gayle Tyler. More of a cause for concern was the publis-
her's latest stream of acquaintances, which included noted political and industrial figures.
"I'm following her," Emilia said, speaking to the microphone of her headset. "She's with that
Feldman guy again. This could mean something. It's the third time this week they had lunch together."
She closed her communication link and gathered her equipment.

         Slowly, Nancy stepped from the car which had brought her to the ravine. She was just about
three miles north of Columbus, Ohio, as both she the driver, Sharon, were on their way back to the
Ohio State University campus. Both were returning from Akron, after visiting their parents and friends
living in the city. She walked about, searching the ground once more. In all, this would be her third
visit to the area, the area in which Paul, her fiancé, had the accident. After a brief walk about the side
of the back road, she sees the tire tracks made by the car, which led to the bottom of the steep ra-
vine. Although had long been towed from the site almost two weeks ago, the evidence remained:
bent and broken trees and shrubbery, even small pieces of the car's front grill told of the doomed
vehicle's turbulent passage.
          "Are you going to be all right?" Sharon asked, standing half-way out of the car. A fellow law
student and childhood friend, she had brought Nancy to the area the first time, about a week after
the accident.
           "Yes," Nancy replied after a long pause of silence. She stood silent as she turned her gaze
to the bottom of the ravine. She then had taken her bike from the harness on the back of the car.
"I'll be a while," she said. "Go on. I'll meet you back on campus." Hesitantly, Sharon nodded to her,
realizing her grief. However, she felt it best to leave her alone to her thoughts.
           For Nancy, it all came down to finding the answers to the glaring questions. Indeed, these
elusive answers will come, she vowed, quite soon.