Discount Invincible (Bulletproof SI/Invincible Comics)

"Yo, what's up, dude?" I yelled to someone in the back I was close with. He knew who I was and glanced up.

"Zandale! The hero of today!" He laughed, gazing at the bundle of explicit comics in my hand. "What's happening in the world of. artwork?" He taunted, an eye-brown, his lips curving wide to a smirk.

I just shrugged and grinned. "Just keeping the dream in view, yeah." I pushed aside comics and leaned on the counter. "But, hey, I've been thinking 'bout switching things."

The man blinked up at me. "Churning something up? What, gonna start selling cookbooks?" He laughed in the store, and his laugh reverberated against walls of comics and action figures.

"Nah, man," I said. "I just. I dunno. I feel like my looks hold me back. You ever feel that way?"

He leaned on his elbows, staring at me in between curiosity and incredulity. "What's holding you back, huh? You're the top-selling artist in the entire city!"

I shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time, uncomfortable under his gaze. "I know, but... it's not just painting, man. There's myself, personally. You know, personal growth and such."

"Alright, alright," he complained, holding up his hands. "So, what's the new style, then? You're going Picasso, huh?"

I chuckled, and pulled out my phone to compare myself to a smooth-faced, wavy-haired model. "Like that, dude. You think that'd do for me?"

He took the phone, critically eyeing the screen. "I think it may do." He put the phone on the desk, his expression serious. "But changing your hair is a big change Z and that beard was your business card."

"Yeah, I do," I said, stroking the coarse chin beard by that was now a integral component of who I am. "But it's time, you know? Time to be someone different."

"Well, if it's going to make your artwork better, okay, fine by me," The man shrugged. "But you're gonna have to swear to me on no account are you gonna start becoming staid squares. Deal?"

"Deal," I laughed, patting him on the back. "Wait and watch, my friend. This'll do business for business and for myself."

I headed out of the store, feeling mixed emotions of trepidation and anticipation. The shirt flapped in the wind and yanked on to the crazed Chicago street. The city sped by in colours and sounds, and for an instant, it felt like seeing it for the first time. Or possibly only got to do in anticipation of my changed appearance.

Walking into the barbershop full hairs product and coffee freshly made filled up the space, greeting me in a bear hug. The barber who knew me since childhood stood up, holding up his comb in greeting, gazing up at me in expression, 'What in heck do you think you're gonna ask me to do today, kid?'

I sat in the chair, surrounded by the soft, comforting hug of familiar leather, and he draped the cape around my neck.

"So, what's our game plan, Zandale?" He asked, his eye scanning our reflection in the mirror.

"Take it all off, dude," I told him, pointing to my beard and hair. "I'll take the package deal."

The barber's eyelids opened in shock. "All of it?"

"Yeah, all of it," I replied, and there was a quiver to my speech. "Waves, such as this one," I tapped on the phone screen, "and smooth-faced."

The barber looked at me, and then looked at the photo, and then looked at me. "Are you sure of that?" He no doubt remembered every last one of the hours I'd spent in his chair, learning to do braids and style my beard laboriously. "Yeah, I'm sure," I said, trying to sound calmer than I did. "We're in for something different."

The barber gasped and grabbed for his clippers, cranked them up to have them produce an unnecessarily loud buzzing sound. He began on the beard, edging carefully around my jaw before approaching the chin. The snipping of blades sent piece after piece of myself to fall to the floor. It was bizarre, to watch for so long retained piece of myself simply dissipate. And while hairs fell, something occurred. I felt free, light. And when, eventually, he laid aside blades and began in on the waves, I felt something in the atmosphere.

The whole ordeal did take longer than I'd have liked, but when he spun around and stood before me, holding up the mirror, I didn't recognize the fellow in the glass. The beard, gone, to unveil instead smooth, cleanly-shaven jaw. The short, wavy hair made me seem... different. For better, to top it. The barber stood behind, his face creasing in pleased smile. "What do you think, Zandale?"

"Damn," I said, running my fingers through my hair. "I think... I think I like it."

The barber laughed. "I told you it'd do you good. Don't expect to start blubbering to me, when women of start flirting outrageously with you."

I laughed, stood up and tapped on his back. "Thanks, dude. You're the best." I handed him a wad of bills, and he accepted them gratefully, before tucking them into his apron.

Stepping out onto the street, stinging breeze danced against the recently shaved skin on my chin, and sent a tingle through to the base of my spine. For the first time, ever since I woke up in this body, I didn't feel self-conscious.

As I strolled on the street, looks in my direction were given by passers-by. The glance of girls lingered for an extra millisecond than usually, and men leaned their heads in appreciation. The feeling is bizarre, having previously remained unseen and now everyone is able to observe. The isekei in me was virtually giving flips in ecstasy.

That night, I strolled to Carla's apartment, richer than ever. In silky clothing, she opened to me, and opened in shock to have spied on me.

"Zandale? Is that you?" she gasped, flying up to cover her chest.

I grinned, and flushed to the cheek. "In the flesh, baby."

Her eyes roved up and down me, drinking in changed expressions. "You're... different," she drawled, in low, husky tones. "Come in."

The warmth of her apartment opened up to receive me, and the smell of washing and vanilla candles filled the space. She settled onto the couch, where she'd laid out a platter of snack foods and opened up a bottle of wine—the Friday night ritual.

"So, what do you think?" I inquired, having no choice but to maintain optimism in my tone. Even Bulletproof knew that chasing a woman's validation did not reflect a high-value man.

Carla's eyes were sparkling as she filled up my glass to the top with wine. "The truth?" leaning in, she said. "You're gorgeous." Her breath on my neck was warm, and I got a surge through me. She'd always admired my paintings, liked who I am, but tonight, she gazed up at me as if to eat me. Both halves of myself approved. "Thanks," I said, drinking in the wine. The taste was sweet and fruity, like the flavor of triumph.

We talked for quite a while, exchanging what happened in the week and over mundane things, but under our conversation, there existed an undercurrent of tension. We both knew what our thoughts were. Finally, she placed her glass aside and leaned towards me. "So, does the new style have new moves in store for me?" she teased, on whose lips played a saucy smirk.

I set aside my wine, my pulse racing. "Oh, yeah," I replied, leaning forward.

Her hand crawled up onto my leg, and I could feel her skin's warmth through my jeans. It wasn't too long ago we'd started seeing each other, but always, always, it felt as if we were doing this for the first time—the hunger and electricity. I set the glass on the floor and pulled her to myself, holding in a kiss full of hunger and desire.

Our kiss intensified, our tongues entangling and our bodies gradually inching closer. The thump in her neck pulsed, and the isekai in myself intensified, yearning for lust in the air. Fingers roved on her curves, and I found myself on smooth skin. We parted, gasping, and she reached for my hand, guiding me to bed.

The lights were dim, casting soft, warm light on the room. She spun around to regard me, and blazed up. "Show me what you have to bring to the party," she husked, and exhaled breath both challenge and invitation. My heart pounded in my chest while I stood staring at her. Carla always did shine, but tonight, blazed. The manner in which she looked up to me made me feel irresistible, and having my overpowered ability, I knew had to exhibit.

I reached and stroked the edge of her robe with fingers, and goosebumps on her skin appeared. She shivered, and I knew where I wanted to take her. Sliding, pushed the robe off around her shoulders, and lacy underwear underneath was revealed to me. "You're so gorgeous," I breathed, whispering softly.

Carla's cheeks flushed bright red, and she gazed aside, blushing. "Thank you," she replied, almost in a whisper.

I stepped in closer, leaning in to cradle her face against my hand. "You have no idea," I replied, leaning in for our kiss.

Her lips were plump and soft, and before I knew, I stood in awe before the scene. But I knew that I did not have time to lose myself in my wits. The isekai in me salivated, desiring to showcase what we may do. I pushed her onto bed slowly, and her weight thudded on bed.

"Let me show you," I gasped against her neck, breath heated and uneven.

I kissed up and down her skin, sending shockwaves through her in every pass of my lips. Her fingers were tangling in my freshly cut hair, leaning against me. Having this new power react to the challenge for pleasing Carla and desire mixed in, something I never before knew flooded me. I knew all of the buttons to push, all of the places to press to make her moan.

Her eyes closed and I ran fingers around the lacy bra edge, teasing the tips of her nipples to peeks. The only sounds in the room were our breathing and clothing on fabric. The fine stuff parted and I pulled back, revealing to the crisp air her bare bosom.

"Mm, Zandale," she softly moaned, and low, husky sounds sent my system on alert in response.

Our bodies danced in perfect sync, kiss and brushstroke in perfect rhythm. My hands knew where to wander, their map to bliss inscribed on their surfaces, every inch of skin on flesh gold to plunder and to hold dear.

My strength surged, and I found myself to every point where she gasped, her muscles straining under mine. Her nails dug deeper in to my back or at least tried to, as I kissed lower to her belly, tracing the curve of her hip.

When I strode between her thighs, she was wet and open to me. Gentle, feather-light kisses on skin, and hips in wordless pleading. This power ran through me, and in it, understanding of exactly what she wanted.

My tongue lashed against her wet folds, tracing sensitive creases in pussy. The moan in my ears, honeyed song of bliss, louder and louder on repeat. Honey and heaven, something to never, ever forget. I knew by sensation, by feel, by instinct, my desire was building, my dick straining against denim in trousers. Her hips bucked, legs quivering under this power leading my movements. As if having an instruction manual for her, and following to every specification. I slid two fingers in, curling them in just the right formation, and she bowed up on the bed, curving in an 'S' formation. Her nails tried to rip through my invulnerable skin.

This new strength in myself luxuriated in her pleasure, sucked in on it like an animal who hadn't dined in centuries. I felt energies building in myself, felt the power responding in my flesh. For a moment, my eyes blazed in weird, extraterrestrial light, and I found myself in an unfamiliar sensation—like floating in space, seeing myself, leading Carla to orgasm's edge.

Her breath bated as she quivered beneath me. This power was driving every movement. Every kiss, every brush of fingers against skin, designed to bring her ever closer to the precipice. And when she came, she was screaming out my name, it was glorious.

As she crash-landed to earth, I slide on top of her, feeling our thumping hearts against one another. She looked up to me, desire and wonder on her face, glazed-over eyes. "When did you get so good?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, and something warm ran through my chest. "A little practicing, yeah, that's all," I lied, giving her a soft kiss. In reality? This power pushed me to ever-higher heights of skill and ecstasy, and every time I saw Carla, myself became better than ever before. My physical structure reshaped to mold to her needs—ab muscles becoming more solid, shoulders bulking, jaw and cheek bones ever-so-beautiful. The power surged through me that made every kiss, every skin-brush, every soft, sensual movement, sent shockwaves through her.

As we gasp and lie in bedclothes, I am unable to help but feel proud. Carla gazes up to me, and in her eye, there is gleam of satisfaction and admiration. As if she did not think that I just days ago, was capable of such pleasure. But in reality, I hadn't changed for her only.

I felt more alive then ever before, my senses heightened and flesh pulsed power. As if releasing repressed energies, I knew I had the power to satisfy any woman with ease, and most certainly Carla. My lips, fingers, every limb in me were in perfect rhythm, becoming an instrument of lust.

But I couldn't get distracted and focus on the bedroom. The world outside called to my name, and not only in adoring fans. I'd been using my power to do good, flying around in Chicago and rescuing folks, but only if possible and for entertainment. That was going to changed soon.

The next morning, on a lark, I swooped to save a cat in a tree–because, why not?–when I heard an unfamiliar whoosh, such as if someone having teleported before where I stood. I looked around, to observe who on earth could it be, but instead, a dude in an uptown suit, staring in awe, such as if he had found treasure.

"Zandale Randolph?" The speaker's tones were smooth, honey-coated gravel. "I am Cecil Stedman, director of the Global Defense Agency."

I blinked, clutching hold of the cat. "What's up." I tried to sound casual, but my pulse sped up. I knew who he was—everyone knew who he was. The dude had secrets on everyone like Spider-Man and is webs.

Cecil Stedman leaned against the trunk of the tree, chest folded up on his arms. "So, 'Bulletproof,' huh?"

I nodded, releasing the cat slowly to the floor. "Everyone says so."

Stedman's eyes narrowed, staring up and down at me, regarding me as property. "We have openings for someone like yourself on our team," he declared, his expression stern. "The Guardians of the Globe."

My heart jumped. The Guardians of the Globe? Oh, boy, that was... the big time. Super heroes who got rewarded for having rescued the world. I knew such a day for myself eventually would come, such as in the comics. Still, I did feel that I'd struck gold in spite of foresight.

"You're serious?" I breathed, unable to produce any louder sound than a whisper.

"Dead serious," Stedman replied, his expression stern. "Your talent is being misspent on rescue operations like this, Zandale. We have enemies more suited to your talent."

I swallowed, ignoring the cat scratching against my ankle who was trying to be reunited with its owner. "But, uh, have my paintings and, um, stuff."

Stedman's gaze didn't waver. "Your paintings can be your second job, Zandale. Your calling is out here, where you can save lives. Take our business card. We're granting you an opportunity to do something for good, and earn a living. And, on top of that, you're able to hold onto your day job—or, if you'd rather, night job."

The offer was irresistible. As an official hero, and no mere rogue who happened to rescue kittens, something most have only ever dreamed of. And for the salary? That would make such a world of difference. No longer to have to think in terms of bills, or whether artwork is selling. I'd have time to do what counts: to help others.

But it wasn't for the pay. It was for the confirmation, for the status of wearing the uniform. I'd be part of something greater than myself, something strong enough to have influence. And, sure, yeah—the perks of becoming a Guardian weren't far from bad. The immediate celebrity status, the finest equipment, an excellent base of operations, and getting to interact with heroes who only existed on rerun TV and comics until today.

So, I accepted Stedman's business card and replied that I'd think on it mainly for my Bulletproof half as my isekei side was decided the moment he saw Cecil. My Bulletproof side insisted it couldn't just jump ship on my artwork and do something so flighty. But even with Bulletproof's rational thinking weighing in on it, it was still going to side with Cecil. Yes, indeed, food on the table, kept by my erotic artwork, but this opened up the possibility to do something truly rewarding. And I didn't have to stop with the artwork, it was just for a different audience.