by Drew Hayes
“Seeing as Haywood’s helper was going to be a secretary from his office, she’s pulled out along with him,” Helen said. “Don’t worry. I already know a perfect sub. Great woman, won’t take any of your shit, and has one hell of a hand at a crafting table.”
“You? You’re going to be a Starscout cluster leader? Isn’t that a tad... self-indulgent?”
“Solid point. I’ll let some other gal unknowingly pair up with a legendary supervillain to take care of a bunch of children.” The smile faded slightly, her eyes growing firm once more. “Look, making you clean up after yourself is the best idea I have that doesn’t involve a wild goose chase of investigation, but I also owe a responsibility to those kids. While you’ve got your talents, I think they’ll do better with someone a little more personable, as well. So I’m going to help, because although you are a criminal and fast with the punches, you’re also my friend.”
It was a touching moment, cut short as she quickly added, “Oh, and Tori is going to be joining us as well.”
The cup nearly shattered in Ivan’s hand, his tension in the moment the only thing that left him aware enough to stop the reaction of surprise. “Why would we do that? On top of putting your identity at needless risk, Tori and I have roughly the same level of personal skills. Even Wade said as much when he paired us together, calling us both pains in the ass. I don’t imagine that improves around children.”
“She’s not coming because we need the help. She’s coming to get the lesson. Tori was with you during all of this, so she needs to see that even Fornax has to face the consequences of his actions.”
Although he’d marshalled himself as she spoke, Ivan was still feeling unnerved. “How did you know about... never mind, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Tori had no hand in the night’s events. She was there only because she couldn’t go home, thanks to an AHC cape putting her in the spotlight.”
“Tachyonic and the others are already working on making right their mistakes. We’re talking about you.” There was a sternness to Helen’s tone that made it clear she wasn’t negotiating; however, it had softened slightly by the time she spoke again. “I assumed Tori was a bystander already, which is why I’m giving her the same role. She’s going to be our assistant—or accomplice, as some might call it—just like she was tonight. Besides, I think it’s time to meet your apprentice, especially now that she’s tied to the New Science Sentries.”
“What am I supposed to tell her about why, exactly, she suddenly has to start joining us for Starscout meetings?”
“I’d go with the truth,” Helen suggested. “You’re making amends and need her help. If she really pushes, you could tell her that the orders came from Lodestar herself.”
Ivan’s eyes widened in terror as he imagined taking that route. “I’ll think of something else. That sort of statement raises more questions than it answers, and Tori’s curiosity is already a dangerous thing. I’d hate to see it piqued in your direction.” He glanced over, expecting professional interest and instead finding a sly smirk of excitement.
“I like her already. Now, let’s dig into the Starscout meeting structure. You might want to grab a pen.”
A secret, high-tech, guild-funded base this was not. The building had been a manufacturing plant for cheap plastic novelties that went belly-up a few decades back, then got further developed by a tech startup to use as a hip new office. Sadly, they also went bankrupt—in this case, before the renovation was even complete. The result of this was a strange, cavernous building with an unusual number of empty rooms, giant production machines covered in grime and dust, as well as the rare and wonderful luxury of working toilets.
The crew gathered around Deacon, whose eyes were shining brightly. Nobody was sure if Deacon was really a meta, like he claimed, or if he was just a smart guy with ambition and guts. His thin frame might have made him an easy target in a different organization, but a benefit of being the mastermind was that no one expected physical intimidation to be in his repertoire. Besides, that was why Darius stood on the opposite side of Emory, both of them flanking Deacon, sending the clear message that he wasn’t alone. While Deacon might not really be a meta-genius like he claimed, he was certainly smart enough to keep his bodyguards well compensated.
Darius was a standard bruiser, the sort of strong, tough meta one could find without much effort. He was a little older than some, which presented vulnerabilities, but also experience. Thus far, he’d been a useful asset to Deacon. Hell, a good chunk of this gang had been found through Darius’s contacts. Emory himself was less bulky, yet substantially more unnerving. Scales on his gray-green skin gave away his condition before one could notice the sharp claws on his hand or the fangs in his mouth. Good as Darius was at handling the straightforward threats, some challenges called for a more flexible solution.
After a couple of weeks working for Deacon, Emory had begun to get a sense of the man. The talk had been going for five minutes already, and as he watched Deacon’s posture straighten, Emory realized they were finally getting to the meat of the matter.
“—and so, you see, fate has offered us a rare chance. Thanks to today’s events, we have an opportunity to do something few would ever dream. We can gain the advantage over a group of superheroes. Imagine it: grabbing a woman they’ve only just publicly saved and holding her hostage. For the life of a civilian, the superheroes will bend over backward.”
From the back, a hand went up, followed quickly by the man shouting his question. “Won’t one of the big capes just come save her?”
There was a murmur of agreement among the masses. No one had forgotten seeing the capes kick ass across Ridge City not so long ago, a solid reminder of what made them dangerous.
“A fair point, and one I considered myself. Worry not, I have a lead on some components that will render us impossible to find for even the most gifted of metas,” Deacon assured him. “As for dealing with our targets, do not fret. We will conduct this operation in such a way that the New Science Sentries’ own shame will keep them from seeking outside help, keeping our opponents’ numbers manageable. They will try to deal with us themselves, and in the process, become even more vulnerable.”
Another voice rang from the back. “How does this get us paid?”
The murmurs were much louder this time. Good plans or not, Deacon wasn’t winning over this crowd without a dollar sign.
Apparently, he’d been ready for this, continuing without so much as a second of hesitation.
“A smart question to ask before any job. The answer is simple: we get paid for the act of committing the crime. Our talents have been recognized, and the employer is extremely interested in the New Science Sentries. We are not to kill any of them, but injuries will be highly rewarded, as will unmasking any members.”
One of the less-public aspects of Emory’s power was the gift of smelling emotions. Not every twinge in sentiment flung scents into the air, but the major ones usually came coupled with detectable pheromones. That was why Emory noticed the sting of fear across his nostrils at those words. Wordlessly, three of the criminals turned and walked out of the building without so much as a second thought.
“Don’t worry about them,” Darius assured Deacon softly. “Plenty in this line of work have a no-AHC policy. They won’t run their mouth, but they aren’t touching this sort of job regardless of pay.”
In different circumstances, Deacon might have ordered them killed. The problem was that all three were connections of Darius, who would most likely get the execution order. If he said no, or stopped Emory from doing the job, Deacon’s entire power structure would collapse—that much he was certainly smart enough to see.
“Very well. A greater split of the pay for us.”
Deacon went back into his spiel, but Emory kept an eye on Darius. It wasn’t him coaching a peaceful solution that was strange; Darius usually erred on the side of diplomacy. No, what bothered Emory was the continuing scent of fear.
The strongest source hadn’t
left with the others. In fact, it was standing opposite him, guarding the other side of Deacon. Why was Darius so afraid of this plan? What did he and those three seem to know that the rest of them didn’t?
Most important of all: why weren’t they sharing this concern with anyone else?
Chapter 8
An unexpected silver lining to Tori’s sudden minor celebrity status was Vendallia making the call to let her work remotely for the rest of the week. That, or Wade put word through his channels and made it happen. One could never be sure how much influence that man exerted in his company, which, to Ivan’s thinking, was exactly the way he liked it.
Pulling up to the Vendallia building, Ivan noted a person hanging out near the entrance. A frown tugged at his neutral expression, trying and failing to coax emotion onto his face. Security was supposed to keep the paparazzi away from the building, since this was privately owned property. This one must have been especially dedicated and foolhardy. Ivan would ensure the mistake wasn’t repeated, not at his place of work.
Halfway across the parking lot, a familiar flash of copper hair triggered Ivan’s memory. It couldn’t be... could it? Given that he’d been living at the AHC all this time, the level of change was certainly possible. This man stood straighter and had noticeably more mass, but there was no mistaking Donald Moss. Technically speaking, he was still on the Vendallia payroll, though his deliverables had shrunk to a token level. It had been quite a few weeks since Ivan last laid eyes on his former programmer.
“Mr. Moss, to what do we owe this unexpected honor?” Ivan didn’t bother to scan him into the building—not because he felt a need to keep Donald out, but because he suspected the man’s reason for visiting wasn’t here. “If you’ve come to check on Tori, I’m afraid she won’t be present today. In light of the traumatic events, Vendallia is permitting her to work from home and stay out of the public view.”
Even though Donald flushed at the assumption, Ivan knew he’d saved them both five minutes of Donald beating around the bush. This was still a workday, presumably for both of them. Cyber Geek patrolled a lot of local beats with his team; the AHC was helping them lay a good foundation of experience in a place where they still had veteran capes watching. It was hard to miss his antics, and Ivan was glad to see the young man finding his place.
“I wanted to make sure she was okay. And to apologize. Tachyonic isn’t on my team, but he’s part of the AHC, so it seemed like one of us should say we’re sorry about all this.”
As a villain, even a barely-involved one, Ivan was grateful Donald hadn’t ended up with a more... potent ability. When people with these kinds of noble instincts got serious power, they made being a villain all the harder. To his thinking, there were enough capes like that already, and one real superhero spurring them on to greater heights.
“Very responsible of you, Donald. I’ll pass the message along—unless you intend to reach out to her today?”
“I might send over a text. Thought it would be better to apologize in person, but I guess digital beats nothing.” Donald paused, all pretense of their meeting exhausted. Not wanting to seem like he’d only come for Tori, Donald groped about for small talk. “How have you been, Mr. Gerhardt?”
“Healthy and busy. On that regard, if you’d like to visit socially, I’m happy to make time. However, I’m afraid the day’s tasks are currently calling.” It was best to put this conversation out of its misery. They both had better uses for their day.
Donald appeared to agree, hurrying away from the door to clear Ivan’s way. “Of course! Sorry to bother you, Mr. Gerhardt.”
Before he turned away fully, Ivan spoke up once more. “You’re never a bother, Donald. I daresay many in the office miss your presence, myself included. They’re all very proud of you. If you were to go up and look through the breakroom, I think you’d be surprised just how many of the mugs are emblazoned with Cyber Geek’s branding.”
The look between them stretched on for several seconds before Donald gave a slow nod. “Thanks, Mr. Gerhardt. You know, you’re one of the only people who didn’t look at me differently after everyone found out what I could do.”
“I have always known the kind of man you are. Gaining powers merely offered you a new way to show that to the world. So long as you remember why you took this path, you never need to feel ashamed about who you are.”
Another long look, this one ending with an unexpected smile before Donald finally walked away. Any other day, Ivan would have left out that last part, but the memory of Haywood’s words from the prior night still rang in his ears. He could offer a little extra comfort to a fellow meta-human, even if Donald would likely never know it was a bond they shared.
Didn’t it fucking figure? The morning prior, Tori would have said she’d trade anything to have the rest of the week off to tweak her suit. Now, she had the time, and one of the only places she couldn’t spend it was at her apartment building where the suit was waiting. Plus, in the process of getting her free week, Tori had lost one of her most valuable assets as a villain: anonymity. In her civilian form, she was supposed to be no one of significance—the sort of person eyes would skim right past without another thought.
As she helped herself to Ivan’s fridge, noting that he’d stocked some of her favorite beer, Tori mulled over the idea that while anonymity was her teacher’s tactic, it wasn’t the only one. Wade Wyatt himself proved that point perfectly. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, famed billionaire investor and entrepreneur Wade Wyatt was really the famous supervillain known as Doctor Mechaniacal. True, everyone did still think of him as a criminal, but only in the ways that capitalism forgave by necessity. Even his most vicious of critics couldn’t fathom who they were really talking about.
The more she dwelled on the notion, idly sorting through emails on her laptop in case someone decided to make sure she was putting in the hours, the more Tori began to consider that this might have been inevitable. If she wanted to follow Wade’s path, found her own company to sell her tech, then Tori would be a public figure eventually.
Perhaps this could be more than ill-fortune. Notoriety had rewards along with risks. Opening a new browser, Tori brought up old articles on Wade Wyatt’s rise to prominence. With an example to pull from and an opportunity to use, she might be able to turn this development to her advantage. Unfortunately, anything she tried would require charisma to pull off, which posed a challenge. When it came to technology and data, Tori spoke the language fluently. Interacting with people had never come as easily. Her best friendships had come from either trying to pretend to be something she wasn’t (a normal office drone) or had been forged in the heat of battles with life-or-death stakes.
A problem to tackle down the line, she supposed. Right now, she needed to flesh out this half-formed idea while she still had the shape of it. If nothing else, it was something to fill up her day. She’d stretch her legs for lunch, but until then, Tori waded deep into the waters of the last few decades of meta-human history.
The scrawny boy appeared to be no more than eleven years old, which made the half-drunk glass of warm beer in front of him rather worrying. Stranger still was the way everyone inside the fetid building gave him a wide berth, save only for the waitstaff, who would occasionally venture near to refresh his beverage. Only two other patrons lingered—a pair of men in fatigues with prominently displayed weapons, both nursing a liquor that was bitter and potent.
A new shadow appeared in the door, the person who stepped through causing audible gasps from staff who happened to look over. She was unnaturally tall and thin, like her skin wasn’t holding in quite as many organs and muscles as a normal human’s might. Skin tinged the color of an old lime, hairless, she moved with dangerous grace, like a cougar roaming the brush. Despite the heat, most of her body, save for her arms, legs, and head, were concealed under a large purple coat with an absurd amount of buttons.
From his spot at the bar, the lone child briefly glanced over, then motioned to a waitress, ta
pping the empty space at his side. Within moments, another beer was waiting, appearing seconds before the strange woman took her seat.
“You shouldn’t be here. We talked about this when we ran. At least, those of us who were sane enough to string words together. Scatter to the winds and lay low for as long as we can. Too many of us gather, the wrong people take notice, and next thing you know, she’ll be kicking down that door and dragging us back.”
His voice was appropriate to his appearance, plainly that of a child. Yet there was a worn quality to it as well, the tone of one who had seen a lifetime of sunsets and still had untold more to go. He appraised his unexpected guest as her unnaturally long fingers plucked the glass from the table and she slurped some of the contents.
“I have never understood your taste for squalor, Grantham.” Her voice, like the rest of her, was a little off. Too high in places, too low in others, like someone doing an impression of human speech. “You are correct. Initially, our plan was to spread ourselves thin and stay hidden. Some have been making bolder moves since then. Blade God cut through an entire underground weapons dealer’s warehouse hunting for a clue on his swords. Suh-Rak is gathering components for another summoning, some of Cobblord’s labyrinths are showing up for sale again, and of course, no one knows what to expect next from Captain Bullshit. Not to mention there were rumors of some mythically powerful frost Viking killing a warlord’s army and placing the entire encampment under his control.”
At her words, a new tension filled the room. Every person there stopped, waiting to see what the child’s reaction would be. It turned out to be finishing his beer and motioning for another. Grantham faced his guest fully as he waited for the refill.
“Come to scold me, Lozora? I didn’t kill off some benevolent village leader or anything like that. I tore a criminal’s head off, froze it, and put it on display as a warning to whoever tried next. That’s how it works, right? We get to do what we want so long as we hurt other criminals? That’s how they justified letting fucking Fornax out into the world, isn’t it?”