And in Mega-City One, she is the law.
“Two, four, six, eight! Who’s about to meet their fate? Not me, you scum, don’t you fret— Your intestines make a great barrette!”
Rah. Rah. Rah.
When the Slaughterhouse Boys—a gang of cannibal bikers—cornered her in a dead-end alley, she didn't draw her Lawgiver. She did a cheer.
Her motto, screamed at max volume before a raid: “Give me a D! Give me an R! Give me an E! Give me a D! Give me a second D! What’s that spell? DEATH! What’s gonna give it to you? THAT’S RIGHT, CITIZEN—ME!”
Her uniform is a perversion: a cropped top in Judge silver and black, a pleated micro-skirt, knee-high boots with armored shin plates, and a visor that glows like a demon’s smile. In one hand: a Lawgiver Mk. II. In the other: a pair of high-density alloy pom-poms, each strand a monofilament wire capable of severing steel—and throats.
She’s not insane. She’s not broken. She’s something far more dangerous: a Judge who has mastered the oldest weapon in the human arsenal—surprise. Because no one, not even the most hardened psycho-slasher from the Cursed Earth, expects their executioner to hit a split and scream “Gimme a J!” before blowing their spine out through their chest.
By the time the backup arrived, the alley looked like a slaughterhouse. Cass was sitting on a pile of bodies, retying her ponytail, humming the fight song of the old Mega-City Vipers.