Flogging Molly

They took my face, but they couldn't take my spirit. I was a therapist, one of the best in Blackwater, and people came to me to salve the wounds on their souls. With the knowledge of the people I worked for, I was surprised that no one came after me sooner. You see, blackmail was as much a part of Blackwater's politics as anything else.

I tried to tell the bastards about doctor/patient confidentiality, but it wasn't like they were going to listen. The thugs just took a glass vase and smashed it into my face until there wasn't anything left. I had passed out half way through the beating, and when I woke up, the doctors told me that there was nothing that they could do for me. They'd sewn what they could back together, contained the bleeding, but the only way that I could ever show my face in public was if I were to get a job as the bride of Frankenstein.

They took my face, but they couldn't take my spirit. The cops didn't give a damn about who attacked me. The mayor and the police chief had been my patients, and they distanced themselves from the scarred freakshow I'd been reduced to. I sat in my apartment for a month, not wanting to see daylight.

That's when my sister, the black sheep of the family came by. She gave me a pep talk, trying to cheer me up. It was the first time we'd spoken since father had disowned her. Everything was going fine until the shopping bag she carried had been kicked over. Out rolled some of her stupid dominatrix gear. I was insensed, and stormed out into the night, fuming over how careless my sister could be. It was dark enough that people couldn't see the horror hidden under my mop of hair. I walked for an hour, then came back to an apartment that looked like a slaughterhouse.

They took my sister, but they couldn't take my spirit. She'd answered the door, and they must have thought she was me, putting a shotgun blast through the peephole. She had come to make me feel loved, and the last thing I'd done was complain about her "day job" smacking people around with a whip. She was also a good student of behavioral sciences, and turned it into a cathartic and profitable career, helping people with esteem issues go safely into the darkness of their spirits.

She'd come to heal me. Instead, she gave me a new face, and a weapon with which I could make them pay for what they'd done.

I'm Molly Shanahan, disfigured psychological therapist, the sister of a murdered woman, and an avenger of injustice. I've found new sisters, otherwise shunned by the world because we're different, but unbroken by bitterness. We're a new family, the Nightmare Angels.

Dragonforce, the mistress of ghostly dragons.
Lovehammer, an eight-foot tall ogress in a world she never made.
Le Tigre, more animal than woman, but also the most accepting of us all.
Donna "Dropkick" Murphy, an Iraqi war vet with experimental bionic legs.
And me.
Flogging Molly.

It's time for injustice to face the music.

:arrow: A theme team of women outcasts just rose from the image of Flogging Molly. And they had to be good, because I have a soft spot in my heart for "damaged women."

:arrow: Once I had the names, the whole team came together, and the Nightmare Angels was an old team name of monster heroes I'd had for the longest time.

:arrow: Molly's whip makes her a grappling monster, especially with her Grappling Finesse. She's also a versatile combatant and a talented investigator who can get the team to where they need to be.