Image Prompt

A car honked as it tore down the street, leaving one long, piercing squeal in its wake.

“Alright, should we start?” A man asked, flicking his feather boa around his neck.

“Woah, we can’t start yet. Turbo isn’t here,” a woman in an eyepatch interjected.

“’Bones is right. Where is he, anyway?” a stripe-shirted man said.

“Stuck in traffic,” a man wearing surgery scrubs said, glancing at the screen of his smartphone.

The man with the feather boa let a hearty laugh explode from his mouth. “The irony,” he said.

“Look, let’s just start and get him caught up when he gets here,” the possible-surgeon said.

“Good thinkin’ Doc. Alright…” the feather boa’d man cleared his throat. “I, the Feathered Fury, do hereby declare the first meeting of the Boston Defenders begun! Sound off team.”

“Doctor Danger, checking in,” the scrubbed man said.

“Uhm…” the woman in the eyepatch paused as a bus growled by, blanketing the small group in a choke of exhaust. “Crossbones here, where…uh…X marks the spot.”

“Nice,” said the doctor.

“Totally,” agreed the stripe-shirted man. “Hey! L’étranger here.”

“Needs work,” Feathered Fury muttered. “And Turbo Ranger is…en route. Okay, so with the bombing a few months ago, this was a long time coming, and I think it’s time we…”

Fury trailed off as a motorcycle flew by, churning out explosive pops as it passed.

“Hey, Fury…can we…go to the diner or something? I haven’t eaten yet,” Doctor Danger asked.

“Yeah, and it’s a little too noisy out here,” Crossbones replied, lifting up her eyepatch to rub her perfectly-working eye beneath.

“Fine, right, okay. I could go for a grand slam anyway,” Fury said. “Someone text Turbo and tell him to meet us there.”