Chapter 102 GDP.

Chapter 102: 102 GDP.

Lilith reluctantly released her death grip, pouting as I stumbled backward, desperately sucking in a lungful of oxygen that didn’t smell like vanilla-scented hellfire.

"I just missed him, Edna!" Lilith whined, her spaded tail drooping sadly as I checked to make sure none of my ribs were permanently dented. "It’s been far too long, Milesy! You never come by anymore. I was starting to think you forgot all about us."

"He did not forget, he simply lacks a functional internal clock," Edna said sharply, pushing her thick glasses up her nose. "Roger! The schedule!"

Roger scurried forward, his tablet clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. "Ah, Edna, you do have a fitting with the Vanguard board in precisely twenty minutes. They are expecting—"

"Cancel it," Edna interrupted, waving a dismissive, manicured hand. "They want me to put reflective silver piping on a nocturnal stealth suit. I refuse to negotiate with morons. Tell them they will get matte black or they can fight crime naked."

"But, Edna, the board—"

"Naked, Roger!"

Roger swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. "Right away, Edna."

Edna turned her terrifying, magnified gaze toward Psyren, stalking around her in a slow, predatory circle. Psyren actually stood up straighter, which was a minor miracle in itself. Edna tapped her chin, her eyes cool and aggressively analytical. "Hmm. Posture is a tragedy. But the bone structure... passable. You have a low center of gravity. Good for dodging kinetic blasts. I saw you in the Death Rumble, yes?"

"I was a singer there," Psyren said, practically glowing at the legendary designer’s recognition.

"Yes. The vocals were adequate. The outfit, however, was a crime against humanity," Edna stated flatly. "A chaotic mess of cheap leather and zippers that served no structural purpose whatsoever. Come. We will fix this disaster."

I followed at a relaxed pace as Edna marched across the floor, Lilith skipping happily behind her.

Honestly, I wasn’t surprised Edna was so blunt. Clothes and costumes from the Haus of Edna were in insanely high demand because, as every marketer knows, presentation is nine-tenths of success.

An iconic costume is an absolute necessity if you want to make a decent hero (or villain) to shill your personal brand.

Edna charged the GDP of a small island nation, but she was worth every penny. Practically every heavy-hitter of note had a costume from her studio.

You could always tell an Edna original: sleek, functional, and aggressively stylish. You could also get far more creative with the bad guys. A hero’s costume inevitably went down a few familiar, brightly colored paths—unless you were an antihero, but corporate sponsors hadn’t touched antiheroes since the late nineties. Their shelf life was remarkably short, and the liability insurance was a nightmare because it was only a matter of time until they said or did something wildly problematic on camera.

We reached a set of heavy, biometric blast doors at the back of the floor. Edna pressed her thumb to a scanner, and the steel retracted with a heavy hiss to reveal her personal studio.

This was the proper realm of a master. Instead of the chaotic, fabric-strewn main floor, this room was a hyper-modern fortress of brushed steel, harsh daylight lamps, and ballistic glass. In the center of the room sat a circular metallic pedestal. But it was the perimeter of the room that caught my attention.

Lining the walls were reinforced, illuminated glass cases, each containing a perfectly preserved super-suit. It was a museum of living legends and dead icons. I recognized the reinforced ceramic plating of the original Extraordinary, the kinetic-weave mesh of the first Shadow-Dude, and... wait.

I stopped, staring at a bright red and black suit with a bold, lowercase ’i’ emblazoned across the chest.

"Is that... Mr. Incredible’s original suit?" I asked, genuinely taken aback. I hadn’t seen that guy on the news in decades.

Edna barely glanced over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand as she walked toward her drafting table. "An old client from a past life. The man had an absurd shoulder-to-waist ratio, a penchant for catastrophic property damage, and he absolutely refused to understand the aerodynamic drag of a bulky utility belt. We had a... falling out over spandex elasticity and his mid-life crisis. Do not bring him up. It raises my blood pressure."

Lilith leaned over to me, whispering loudly enough for the entire room to hear. "She still sends him fruit baskets on his birthday, but if you tell her I said that, she’ll banish me back to the seventh circle."

"I heard that, you over-inflated succubus!" Edna barked without turning around. She pointed a sharp finger at the metallic platform in the center of the room. "Up. Stand there, child."

Psyren hurried over and climbed onto the pedestal, looking weirdly intimidated by the tiny woman.

"Now," Edna said, clasping her hands behind her back and staring at Psyren like a complex math equation waiting to be solved. "What are the parameters? Do not bore me with vague concepts. Give me utility."

"Well, uh..." Psyren hesitated, shooting me an uncertain look.

I leaned against a nearby glass partition, crossing my arms thoughtfully. "I think pink and black," I said. "Keep the theme."

"Black and neon pink," Edna murmured, adjusting her massive glasses as she stalked around the pedestal. "Classic. Striking. High visual contrast for intimidation and brand recognition, yet dark enough to adequately conceal blood spatter and scorches. Decent enough."

"And it has to be skin-tight!" Lilith squealed, practically vibrating with excitement as she leaned right over Edna’s head again, her spaded tail whipping back and forth. "Oh, we absolutely must. It would be a literal crime not to show off a figure like that. A sin! And trust me, I know a thing or two about sinning, Milesy!"

"It will be form-fitting to eliminate aerodynamic drag and deny her opponents easy grappling holds, you overgrown succubus!" Edna snapped, ruthlessly whacking Lilith in the thigh with a rolled-up fabric swatch.

"Not everything revolves around your insatiable need to titillate the masses. Strip, child! Shirt off. Let me see the structural framework I am building upon. Lilith! The tape!"

"Got it, boss!" Lilith chirped.

She reached deep into her impressive cleavage, produced a yellow retractable measuring tape, and dropped it into Edna’s waiting hand.

"She really is the best," I told Psyren, who looked slightly bewildered but compliant.

"Do not patronize me with flattery, Miles, I am fully aware of my own worth," Edna muttered, stepping up to the pedestal.

"I’ve seen your civilian lines in all the high-end magazines," Psyren said as she shrugged out of her cheap leather jacket and pulled her band tee over her head, standing proudly in just her bra and ripped fishnet tights.

"Everyone I know back in the underground tries to steal knock-offs of your stuff."

"Pedestrian garbage. Trifling distractions," Edna scoffed.

She began wielding the measuring tape with the blinding speed and precise, snapping motions of an Olympic fencer.

"I design those soulless, prêt-à-porter rags for vapid socialites and trust-fund brats merely to fund my true art. It pays the bills, but it is a tragic waste of my intellect! To engineer the second skin of gods, monsters, and villains—that is why I endure this miserable city.

"Anyone can drape silk over a coat hanger, but to construct a garment that withstands point-blank artillery fire from Gun-america, and still perfectly flatters the glutes? That is passion!"

The tape zipped around Psyren’s waist, snapped back, and shot around her shoulders before the psychic could even blink.

"I engineered Miles’s suit, did I not?" Edna said, her eyes narrowing as she mentally tabulated measurements without writing a single thing down.