Geoffery Gardner, known in his heyday as Art-Man®, sat on his back patio with a hot cup of coffee. The morning air was a little chilly, even with the sun climbing steadily higher into the sky. It had just started to paint the Los Angeles skyline with a golden hue, and the scent 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 quite sure how she got there, but he was certain it hadn't been by his own doing. He had a vague memory of a platinum-haired beauty from the night before, but his head was pounding too much to piece together the puzzle.

He still looked good for his age, he thought, admiring his reflection in the balcony windows. His dark hair and beard, liberally streaked with silver, was slightly disheveled, but it 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. The walls were adorned with comic book panels that he had drawn himself, chronicling his adventures, his triumphs, and his losses. They were a reminder of the life he had led, the lives he had saved, and the ones he couldn't.

His lab, tucked away in one corner of the vast living space, behind a secured door, 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, humming softly as if whispering secrets of the reality it could manipulate. It was a thing of beauty, with a handle made of polished oak and bristles that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura.

Geoff smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. He missed the action, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of 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. Mostly.

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 body ready for action even if his mind was still groggy.

A figure stepped through the broken doorway; her form silhouetted against the sunlight. She was short, even for a woman, which her perky curves suggested was a possibility. Because of the chrome of an Art Deco helmet, he couldn't see her face, but he could sense her confidence, her poise. She was dressed in a chrome and sky-blue suit, the armor plates shifting subtly 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 don't usually 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 in 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 and what you want 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 wasn't fooled. 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 use fisticuffs first and 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 slightly in the suddenly silent room.

The woman tilted her head, her helmet's visor flickering, probably 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 Deco themes added a touch of elegance to the otherwise brutal design.

The armor seemed to have a mind of its own, shifting subtly beneath her skin, almost like a second layer of muscle. Geoff could see the faint outline of a logo on her chest plate, but it was too small to make out from where he stood.

He could feel the hum of his paintbrush through the forcefield, 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 reminded her, 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 slightly 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 slightly in the sunlight, passed a bench where two young women stood.

"Prof! Hey Prof!" One yelled before blowing a deafening whistle. The students groaned, but Salmon just laughed.

"Ah, Sydney, what a surprise..." he said, muttering the last part under his breath. "And the person beside you must be Blake?" Salmon asked, turning to 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 sketchbook, her eyes meeting Salmon's. They were a striking green, like the deepest parts of the ocean. "Oh, hey Professor Greene," she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She had a portfolio case, almost half her height, tucked under her arm.

"Yep, she's, my roomie." Sydney said, looping her arm around Blake's shoulders. "Blake, this is Professor Salmon Greene. He's, like, the coolest history prof ever. And he was, like, a superhero or something."

"Or something," Salmon said, chuckling. "And please, call me Salmon. Professor makes me feel old."

Blake looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Wow, really? A superhero? That's... that's amazing. What was your power?"

Salmon smiled, "Surviving," he quipped, making Blake chuckle softly.

"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, elbowing Blake playfully. Blake rolled her eyes but flushed slightly 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 teased, earning a playful scowl from Sydney. Blake, however, just blushed deeper, her eyes darting between the two.

"Well, maybe I'll consider it," she murmured, tucking 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 professor, he's like... a legend."

Blake looked up from her sketchbook, her eyes following Salmon's retreating form. "Yeah, maybe. I'll think about it," she said, her voice 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."