The Supervillainy Saga (Book 4): The Science of Supervillainy

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Gizmo!” Kerri said. “Did you try to kill your father?”

  Gizmo put on a miniature lab coat and steampunk goggles. “No! That was just Murderbot!”

  Kerri did a double take. “Who gave you permission to make a murderbot!?”

  Gizmo looked at Cindy.

  Cindy raised her hands. “Don’t look at me. I said you could make a killer robot only if your grades were good, and I don’t see any report cards!”

  “She doesn’t go to school!” Kerri said.

  Gizmo pointed a framed GED on her wall. “I admit, I had to lie and create an online secret identity, but I answered all the questions!”

  Kerri looked ready to strangle Cindy. It was perhaps the maddest I’ve ever seen her since they cancelled The Muppet Show.

  Mandy surprised me by looking at one of the objects on Gizmo’s shelves. “Is that a P.H.A.N.T.O.M Panopticon key?”

  “Yes,” Gizmo said, proudly. “I just got it fixed. I don’t have the hands for fine manipulation but have the benefit of telekinesis.”

  “May I borrow it?” Mandy said. “If we have a sufficiently powerful computer system, I might be able to tap into the First Citizen’s networks. One thing about totalitarian dictatorships is they like to keep everything under watch, and it’d be good to turn that against him.”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Gizmo said. “I’m glad I’m helping!”

  “A spot of tea, Guv’nor?” Murderbot asked. “Biscuits? Crumpets?”

  The killer robot had put on a bowler hat with a Union Jack on it. It was also holding a tea kettle in its hand.

  “The Londoner and Union Jane would hate you so much,” Mandy said. “Or love you, I can’t tell.”

  I shook my head and tried to think about what to say next. This had been a greatly educational experience, telling me just how I should relate to my daughter. Admittedly, that was through mad science and murderbots, but that was more ways than my father had been able to relate to me.

  Cloak, as always, had to be a party pooper. “Your daughter has a condition that requires specialized schooling and treatment. You should take her to the Tomorrow Society where they can assist her.”

  “My daughter’s condition is she has superpowers, Cloak.”

  “And it could be dangerous to her and others like her.”

  I shook my head, wondering if the Tomorrow Society existed anymore or if President Omega had murdered them all. The organization might also have been subverted to become a place that conscripted superheroes for Other Gary’s New Order.

  “I’m going to go work on this for the next few hours,” Mandy said. “I hope you guys won’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

  I stared at her. “Oh, I’m sure Diabloman will keep me out of too much trouble. Where is he, anyway?”

  Kerri and Cindy exchanged a look.

  “What?”

  Cindy frowned. “Diabloman is sick, Gary. Very sick. He’s dying. He has been for years.”

  I took a deep breath. “Show me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  WHERE I REALIZE OTHER PEOPLE HAVE PROBLEMS TOO

  Cindy walked me to the Crystal Palace’s hospital wing and let me go into Diabloman’s room by myself. I walked into the hermetically sealed environment after being splashed with a bunch of white gases that Galahad insisted would disinfect me. Diabloman’s hospital room was a prefabricated box containing a lot of stolen medical equipment, including a Venusian life-support chamber, which looked like a recliner with a metal clamp over the chest covered in blinking lights.

  I hated hospital, and this was no exception. The place smelled and sounded exactly like Falconcrest City General. I’d lost my father the year of President Omega’s rampage, and it disgusted me to be once more surrounded by the trappings of death.

  And yes, I noted the hypocrisy given I was her champion.

  Diabloman, in a few words, didn’t look good. The once-muscular supervillain was reduced to a shadow of himself. He looked like he’d aged a couple of decades rather than just five years, though it was difficult to tell since he was still wearing his mask. Diabloman had lost almost two hundred pounds; he looked like a husky, flesh-covered skeleton. Tubes to various bags of fluids were linked to his arms, heart, kidneys, and other vital organs. One of the monitors showed he had artificial organs now, science having done its very best to prolong his life past its sell-by date.

  Unfortunately, from what little I understood, even this was failing. D had used black magic for years to give himself super strength and survive the countless beatings he’d received at the hands of superheroes. Black magic was inherently hostile to the spirit, though, which is just one of the reasons why you should never make a deal with the Devil. Diabloman’s infernal masters had never intended him to last. He was a short-term weapon designed to bring about the end of the world. I found it no coincidence he’d lost his ability to regenerate from the damage caused by his powers when he’d started helping people.

  “Oh, D,” I muttered, shaking my head.

  “I know my astral projection looks much better,” Diabloman said, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual. “Still, I have to give credit to Cindy and Gabriel. I had six months to live before we killed President Omega, and they’ve dragged it on for years.”

  “You were dying before I left?” I asked, using “left” as a euphemism for “was kidnapped by my doppelgänger and thrown in suburban hell.”

  “All of us are dying,” Diabloman said, shrugging. “I was raised to believe even the immortals are hurtling toward a permanent entropic state that will eventually consume the Multiverse.”

  “Yes, but the people who raised you sucked,” I said. “What with being demon worshipers and all.”

  “Don’t be religiously intolerant,” Diabloman said, looking at me with an expression I expected was akin to a smile. It was hard to tell with the way his mask was baggy and loose around his face.

  “Well, either way, I’m going to fix this.” I took a deep breath. God, first my father and now Diabloman. Dying of natural causes sucked worse than dying of unnatural ones.

  Diabloman sighed. “Gary, it’s not your responsibility to try to fix every problem you encounter.”

  “Err, yes, it is,” I said. “At least when the problem is one of my crew dying.”

  Diabloman stared at me. “Have you seen Gizmo?”

  I cringed at that name but nodded. “I have. I’m a father now. I never expected that to happen. She’s a brilliant, wonderful, entirely terrifying little girl. They should make a cartoon about her where she takes over the neighborhood from her rival mad scientist child across the lawn.”

  “It would be very popular,” Diabloman said, chuckling. “I’m sorry that you were denied a chance to see so many moments of her life—her birth, first steps, and solving quantum mechanics.”

  “Did it need to be solved?” I asked.

  “No, but she solved it anyway,” Diabloman said. “I’ve tried to tell her about you and what a good man you were.”

  “So, you’ve been lying to her?” I asked before giving him a thumbs-up. “Good job.”

  Diabloman laughed again, this time choking halfway through before catching his breath. “I’ve missed you, my friend.”

  “Me too,” I said, thinking about all the time I’d lost. “How’s your family? Are . . . they all right?” I wasn’t sure how to ask “So has my alternate self-murdered your family? Because really, that’s entirely possible with this guy.”

  “They’re all right,” Diabloman said, not speaking for a few moments thereafter. “I haven’t seen them for some time. The First Citizen’s reach is long, but not into the areas of Mexico where they’re hiding. Last I’d heard, my daughter Anna had decided to become a superhero.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “You give your children all the good parenting you can, but sometimes it isn’t enough.”

  Diabloman looked at me sideways. “I’m proud of her, Gary. She’s decided to become a
white magician. A sorceress who helps people. I don’t think she’s going to work with the Society of Superheroes or fight crime, though. I believe she intends to primarily serve as a healer and rescue worker.”

  “Probably a good idea,” I muttered. “What the hell happened to the Society of Superheroes? How can they let this happen? I mean, cliché as it may sound, they’re supposed to be the good guys.”

  “They still are,” Cloak said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Evidence says otherwise,” I mentally chided Cloak. “The only thing necessary for good to triumph is for it to become evil.”

  “That statement gives me a headache,” Cloak said.

  “Good,” I said.

  “Ultragod’s loss was a great one,” Diabloman said, answering my earlier question. “When Other Gary killed him, he not only destroyed the greatest of superheroes, but also many of the world’s heroes’ belief that they could be better than the lesser evil. Gabrielle’s disappearance made it worse, as she was the only one who believed in redemption for supervillains. What was left without them was an organization that was rigid and inflexible about its rules. The organization that would not bend simply broke, and now it just enforces the law rather than seeking justice.”

  I still couldn’t believe it. I thought about all the wonderful things the SOS had done for humanity over the years. The cracks had always been there, though. They’d protected the Extreme, Shoot-Em-Up, and other antiheroes. They hadn’t worked against corrupt regimes and sometimes even propped them up when they felt it was a better alternative to chaos. Many times, they’d let atrocities happen if it meant preserving their special relationship with the world’s governments. Not to mention the whole Guantanamo Bay-esque prison they’d built on the moon. What had that been about? Oh right, keeping people like me off the streets.

  “How bad is it outside of Falconcrest City?” I asked.

  “Bad is an interesting measure,” Diabloman said. “As you may have noticed, the United States is recovering nicely from World War Three. Crime is down, the economy is up, technology continues to be discovered—”

  “Everyone is happy right up until someone shoves a black bag over your head and drags you off to Room 101.”

  “Yes,” Diabloman said. “But it was the people who handed power over to Other Gary and his supporters.”

  I thought about that. “Not my problem.”

  “Oh?” Diabloman asked.

  “You were the one who said I shouldn’t try to fix everything,” I said, sighing. “The United States wasn’t exactly pitch-perfect beforehand. I’ll deal with Other Gary and let things resolve themselves their own way,” I said, shrugging. “Maybe focus more on robbing banks and less on trying to change the world. Shockingly enough, killing the president of the United States doesn’t seem to have actually made the world a better place.”

  “Was that sarcasm?” Diabloman asked.

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  “Just checking.”

  I frowned and put my hands together. “Let’s change the subject to something less depressing, like terminal illness. Have you considered transferring your soul to a new body? I can probably do that. Magic Jar is only a fifth-level spell. Wait. Dammit, we’re in the fifth edition now and I don’t have the rulebooks for that.”

  Diabloman reached over and took my hand. “Gary, I don’t want you wasting your time trying to fix me.”

  I stared at him. “It’s not a waste of time. You’re family.”

  “Cindy and Galahad have exhausted every possible avenue of research,” Diabloman said, his voice showing less bitterness than I would have expected. “Indeed, they have taken far too much time away from trying to rescue you, Mandy, and Gabrielle.”

  “Maybe my daughter could take a crack at it,” I said, half-joking.

  “She built my astral projection unit,” Diabloman said. “Magic and science aren’t really two separate fields for her. Even so, I have turned down her offer to make me a robot body to house my brain. If the demons I worship want me to survive, I will, but I suspect they do not. I have done too many good deeds in your service.”

  “We did good deeds?” I asked.

  “We saved the world, twice.”

  “Yes, but purely for selfish reasons!” I said, horrified. “I mean, we live here!”

  I couldn’t tell through his mask, but I swore Diabloman rolled his eyes. “The Lords of Hell are not so easy to deny.”

  “Not my experience,” I said. “Remember when Mister Evil tried to claim your daughter’s soul and I managed to win it along with a golden guitar in a rock off?”

  “I remember you saving my daughter, yes,” Diabloman said. “You were quite clever to choose the song ‘Stairway to Heaven’ to trick it. I still smile whenever I think about how it refused to do the song and forfeited.”

  “That was the only song I knew how to do,” I said, grimacing. “I just lucked out. If it had been a piano duel, I could have done ‘Chopsticks’ or ‘Closing Time.’”

  Diabloman lowered his head. “Before I pass on, I want you to give you what remaining advice I can about the way the world works for a proper supervillain.”

  I gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re not dying. But I’ll listen.”

  “Always remember who your friends are. A true crew will have your back through thick and thin, while most other criminals will betray you.”

  I nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “Don’t trust aliens or artificial intelligences because they all want to destroy humanity.”

  “OK, that’s a bit prejudiced,” I muttered.

  “Beware Atlanteans because they’re all thieves.”

  “What I said above but doubled.”

  “If you must choose an ethnic crime gang to hire from, don’t use Caucasians because they’re over privileged.”

  I frowned at Diabloman. “OK, we’ve gone from funny ha-ha fantastic racism to just racism.”

  “Some stereotypes have truth to them.”

  “Grandpa? Is that you?”

  Diabloman gave a short laugh before starting to wheeze and cough. When he finished, he took a deep breath before continuing. “I never explained to you, Gary, why I was so devoted to you. Why I stood by you when it would have been so easy to betray you and claim all of the treasures we stole together.”

  “Because you’re an awesome cool mentor guy?” I suggested.

  “No,” Diabloman said. “Because this next piece of advice is something you need to hear. Most criminals are untrustworthy evil fools only out for themselves. I know because I was one of them.”

  I paused. “You were brainwashed by a cult of Satanists growing up, D. Not to insult your religious beliefs, but they’re in need of insulting. When you’re looking forward to the end of the world, you’re pretty much awful—and I say that for extremist Christian, Cthulhu, and demon-worshiping cults.”

  Diabloman didn’t correct me. “Most criminals are, Gary, but you are not. You remind me very much of my sister, Spellbinder.”

  “You can call her by her real name,” I said, frowning. “I don’t even know yours.”

  “Diabloman is my real name,” Diabloman admitted. “Hector Sanchez may be the name on my license, but it’s just one of a hundred aliases. You, however, are Gary Karkofsky, and Spellbinder . . . Spellbinder was Maria Angela Sanchez. I can never atone for killing her and the Guitarist even if I continued to live for a thousand years. I took something beautiful from the world, and I’m sorry to say part of the reason I sided with you was because I saw the same inner light in you that I saw in her.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “So, I’m your replacement goldfish?”

  “Yes,” Diabloman said. “To a certain extent. However, I have come to love you like the hermano I never had. I’ve teamed up with hundreds of supervillains across the decades, but this is the only group I’ve ever felt at home at. It’s . . . peaceful to know that when I do pass on, it’ll be with having seen you again.”

&n
bsp; “Do I have to get some electrical shock paddles? This crazy dying talk is annoying me. I mean, I brought Mandy back from the dead.”

  “Do not resurrect me,” Diabloman said, his voice firm. “I saved the world when we killed Zul-Barbas together. I saved it again when I helped you kill President Omega. I’ve failed to do anything about Other Gary and am falling back into old patterns. I would rather go out on a high note, even if I expect nothing but perdition.”

  I frowned, wondering where Diabloman got the idea that our group was his atonement. “I dunno, we do kind of know Death personally. I get the impression she’s the person who judges and sorts the good guys from the bad. If Darth Vader can get into Jedi Heaven, I think you can someday see your sister again.”

  “You think?” Diabloman said, before starting to choke again. This time the choking didn’t stop and he went into cardiac arrest. Cindy ran in and did her very best to treat him while I was shuffled out. Diabloman survived his attack. Barely. The next time, he probably wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Chapter Twelve

  WHERE I HAVE A NICE CHAT WITH MY DOPPELGÄNGER

  Diabloman would survive, at least for a little while longer, and I spent the rest of the night spending quality time with my family. In the end, I felt drained, since Cindy and Kerri seemed more interested in comforting me about the situation than I was in making a plan to take down Other Gary. Gizmo, at least, was just interested in talking with me about my life.

  In the end, everyone went to bed early, including me. Unfortunately, that was no respite since Other Gary was waiting for me on the other side of the sleep’s veil. The jackass was standing in the middle of a massive penthouse boardroom overlooking the whole of Falconcrest City.

  The walls were made of smooth reflective black crystal and decorated with portraits of Other Gary and his artificial family. The ground was covered in blood red carpet, and there was a single desk at the end of the chamber standing between two gigantic grandfather clocks—one moving forward, one moving backward. We were obviously at the top of the Merciful Building.