@illusorybutterfly
While June still had the lab, full of its incredibly expensive, new equipment, she and her former employer had parted ways. It was no real loss to her, save the interest sheâd had in the challenge of the project, but it did leave her with an open window. After some consideration, though not for any lingering or long amount of time, sheâd made up her mind. Sheâd spent years under the radar, changed her face, adopted a new name, but she was tired of it. Almost bored, even. Sheâd had a freedom before that sheâd denied herself and once the idea struck her, she wanted to reclaim it.Â
It was time for Toxic Doxie to return.Â
June rarely paid attention to the goings on in the city that didnât directly affect her, but once she started to look, her attention was pulled in the direction of what seemed to be a particularly potent street drug. Djinn, they called it. She wanted the manufacturer. Should they turn out to be incompetent or intolerable, she wanted their formula and would take it. If they werenât, she was keeping herself open to the idea of a...working relationship.Â
She had a genetic sample of a metahuman who happened to be a regular user of Djinn, and the weak, but very much present, psychic link that those genetic samples gave June to their owner allowed her to follow the young woman to a dealer. From there, it was the dealer to someone higher up in the chain, and eventually to a hideout.Â
It had been so long since sheâd had a good fight. Over the years, sheâd amassed a vast number of different abilities that sheâd cherry picked for herself. Thermal blasts, containment fields, the ultra-potent neurotoxin laced into her nails...she put them all to good use. The guards protecting the hideout were good. So good. It made it even more satisfying to leave one of them dying on the ground, their body shutting down from toxin rapidly invading their system, and the others in various states between life and death.Â
She adjusted her hood, pulling the white cloth up over her hair, situated her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, and walked up to the door. Behind her, the air was punctuated by the sound of moaning and what sheâd come to affectionately know as the death rattle. It was faint, but present. June waited. Someone else would come.Â




















