Geoffery Gardner, known in his heyday as Art-Man®, sat on his back patio with a hot cup of coffee. The morning air was chilly, even with the sun climbing steadily higher into the sky. It had just painted the Los Angeles skyline with a golden hue, and the aroma of flowers blooming in his garden filled the air.

He sighed contentedly. This was the life.

He woke up to a beautiful woman in his bed. Geoff wasn’t sure how she got there, but he was certain he wasn’t responsible. He had a vague memory of a platinum-haired beauty from the night before. However, the pounding in his head prevented him from piecing together the puzzle.

He still looked good for his age, he thought, admiring his reflection in the balcony windows. Although disheveled, his dark hair and beard, liberally streaked with silver, gave him a rugged, distinguished look. His eyes, a warm brown, crinkled at the corners as he smiled at himself.

Geoff’s penthouse suite was his sanctuary, a testament to his years of service as a superhero. Comic book panels he had drawn himself adorned the walls. They chronicled his adventures, his triumphs, and his losses. They reminded him of the life he lived, the lives he rescued, and the ones he couldn’t.

His lab, tucked behind a secured door in one corner of the vast living space, hummed with a life of its own. It was a symphony of technology and art, a testament to his unique power.

The supernatural paintbrush, a gift from the universe itself, lay on the sleek countertop. It crooned. Spinning tales of the reality it could manipulate. Its polished oak handle added to its beauty. Its bristles shone with an unearthly glow.

Geoff smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. He missed the action, the thrill of the chase, contented with a job well done.

But he didn’t miss the constant vigilance, the endless parade of villains, the weight of responsibility that had become heavier with each passing year. So, he had hung up his cape, traded in his spandex for a suit, and opened a private investigation firm. It wasn’t as exciting, but it was peaceful on most days.

Today, however, was proving to be anything but peaceful. He had barely entered the penthouse to pour a second cup of coffee when the glass doors leading to the balcony shattered. Shards rained down, clattering onto the patio like tiny, sharp diamonds, which he barely avoided by dropping to the floor.

Geoff’s hand tightened around his coffee cup, but he didn’t flinch. Years of training kicked in, and he was on his feet in an instant. His reflexes readied his body for action, even if his mind was still groggy.

A figure stepped through the broken doorway; her form silhouetted against the sunlight. Her height, slight even among women, hinted at a curvy figure. Because of the chrome of an art déco helmet, he couldn’t see her face, but he could sense her confidence, her poise. She wore a chrome and sky-blue suit. The armor plates shifting as she moved.

The whirr of servos gave away her intentions as she lunged with a massive left-hook. Geoff ducked just in time, the punch narrowly missing his jaw and sending a vase shattering against the wall.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Geoff drawled, wiping shards of pottery off his shoulder. “I rarely get visitors this early. What can I do for you?”

The woman didn’t respond. Instead, she attacked again, this time with a barrage of rapid-fire punches. Geoff danced away, his reflexes honed by decades of experience. He grabbed a nearby chair and threw it at her, giving himself some space, as he rolled and came up with both legs extended, sending her flying into the bedroom wall.

The room shook as she left a chrome dent on the otherwise pristine surface.

“Alright, that’s enough games,” Geoff said, his voice hardening. He picked up his coffee cup, miraculously still intact, and attempted to take a sip, only to be reminded that it was empty. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me who you are before I get serious.”

The woman pushed off from the wall, landing gracefully on her feet. She raised her hands in a universal sign of surrender, but Geoff remained unconvinced. He had seen too many villains use that exact gesture before launching another attack. Just as he had seen far too many powered-armor wearers throw punches first and fire planet-cracking lasers second.

Geoff slammed his hand against the sleek counter, a light shined through the counter material, scanning his palm. “Welcome, Art-Man®. The protective force-field around your paint brush will lower in five seconds,” the countertop’s AI announced, its voice echoing in the now silent room.

The woman tilted her head. Her helmet’s visor flickered, analyzing the new variable. Geoff used the moment to study her, his artist’s eye picking up details he might have missed in the heat of the action.

Her suit was a work of art. He had to give her that. The chrome and sky-blue were a striking combination, and the art déco themes added a touch of elegance to the otherwise brutal design.

The armor had a mind of its own, shifting beneath her skin like a second layer of muscle. Geoff saw a logo on her chest plate, but distance hid the details.

He could feel the hum of his paintbrush through the force-field, a comforting presence that grounded him. The force-field would lower soon, and the power within it thrummed, ready for his command. But Geoff held off, his curiosity piqued.

“You’ve got four seconds left,” he said, as he poured his second cup of coffee.

---

In a lecture hall at Claremont University in Southern California, diminutive hands loaded an attaché bag with student papers. The bag bulged as Professor Salmon Greene placed the last stack inside. He was a small half-fish, half-man. But his presence filled the room. His tweed vest and slacks hid a strong, muscular body, a relic of his former superhero days.

He walked through the now vacant hallways leading out of the lecture hall into a fauna filled courtyard. The sun was high, casting a warm glow over the lush greenery. A fountain with a colorful post-modern sculpture bubbled merrily in the center of the courtyard. Students lounged on benches, soaking up the sun, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Salmon, his green and silver-scaled skin glistening in the sunlight, passed a bench where two young women stood.

Someone yelled. “Professor! Hey, Professor!” Then a shrill whistle pierced the air. A groan rose from the students. Salmon, however, laughed.

“Ah, Sydney, what a surprise...” the last part said under his breath. “And the person beside you must be Blake?” Salmon focused on the other woman.

Blake was short, her lithe frame draped in a black and red plaid shirt, her hair a mess of dark curls. She wore a silver ring on her nose and another on her lip, a stark contrast to Sydney’s boisterous, all-American charm.

Blake looked up from her phone, her eyes meeting Salmon’s. They were a striking green, like the deepest parts of the ocean. “Oh, hey Professor Greene,” her voice was soft, almost shy. She had a portfolio case, almost half her height, tucked under her arm.

“Yep, she’s my roomie.” Sydney looped her arm around Blake’s shoulders. “Blake, this is Professor Salmon Greene. He’s, like, the coolest History Professor ever. He was a superhero or something.”

“Or something,” Salmon said with a chuckle. “And please, call me Salmon. Professor makes me feel old.”

Blake gazed at him, her eyes wide. “Wow, really? A superhero? That’s... that’s amazing. What was your power?”

Salmon smirked. “Surviving.” His quip brought a smile to Blake’s face.

“Blake’s an art student down the road. I’m trying to get her to join your English History class next semester. She could use some culture in her life,” Sydney said, patting Blake’s head. Blake rolled her eyes but flushed at the attention.

Salmon raised an eyebrow, looking at Blake with renewed interest. “Is that so? Well, I’d be happy to have her. Art and English History have a lot in common, you know. Both are about telling stories, preserving the past. Besides, I’d welcome any new minds, especially those brighter than Syd’s,” Salmon said, earning a playful scowl from Sydney. Blake, however, just blushed deeper, her eyes darting between the two.

“Well, maybe I’ll consider it,” she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I mean, if you think it’d be useful, Salmon.”

Salmon grinned, “Wonderful. I can’t wait. Good day, ladies,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat towards them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet someone.”

As Salmon walked away, Sydney watched him go, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, Blake, I really think you should take his class. He’s not just a History Professor, he’s like... a legend.”

Blake looked up from her sketchbook, her eyes following Salmon’s retreating form. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.” Her voice was distant.

Sydney nudged her again, a mischievous grin on her face. “C’mon, Blake, don’t be shy. He’s single, you know.”

Blake rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Well... he is cute.”