The Super-Duper Splotch continued working day and night, seven days a week, to protect the city, though. Sometimes he failed and people died. Sometimes he got beaten and hospitalized. He’d had his secret identity exposed a few times too. I wasn’t sure how he put that particular genie back in the bottle, but it was a reminder that not everyone had an unbroken record of wins to losses. I admit, I was one of like ten kids growing up who bought his merchandise. I still had an adult pair of Splotch underoos I’d bought on sale at Ultramart.
“That’s not the point, Gary,” Cindy said. “Superheroes beat up supervillains. It’s kind of our thing.”
“Eh, I got a bunch of the C-Listers jobs at Omega Corp: The Brown Anemone, the Soccer Ball (known as El Football everywhere else), the Purple Hippo, and the Leapin’ Leapfrog are all doing pretty well. I paid off Sexy White Rabbit Girl’s legal fees with Playboy too. Really, she just needed to change to Sexy Brown Rabbit Girl. It’s really got down on the redactivism in the city.”
I could hear Cindy feeling her face. “You’ve been getting supervillains legitimate jobs, Gary?”
I shrugged. “They work in corporate security so I wouldn’t say legitimate. Mind you, a couple of them tried to rob the place but that’s what insurance is for. I’m actually supervising about forty more applications from other ex-cons. The problem is convincing them that I’m not starting a crew.”
It helped that, having been on the other side of the curtain, I could tell the difference between which supervillains were professionals trying to make a dishonest buck versus the hardcore monsters. The former might—and frequently did—end up hurting people because of bad luck or trying to stay out of jail, but the latter got off on mayhem even when it made things worse for everyone. It was like the movies Heat or Reservoir Dogs. There was always that one psychopath you never wanted to work with. I had a reputation for killing those guys in the supervillain world and it actually left me with some lingering goodwill despite my turn to heroism.
“Want me to give you something actual evil to fight?” Cindy asked, sounding surprisingly happy.
Cindy had decided to go semi-straight rather than fully straight, which was good because she was anything but. Cindy targeted the rich, powerful, and corrupt in the city before robbing them blind with an unknown partner. I didn’t bother to question her on this because, well, I didn’t care. If she wanted to tell me who she was working with then she could. The fact we didn’t need the money was immaterial as sometimes the heist was its own reward.
“Ooo, how evil? Murderer? Child abuser? Guy who leaves his dog in a hot car? Because that last one is murder-worthy offense.”
“Kidnapping,” Cindy said, cheerfully. “The mayor has been kidnapped by the Red Condor.”
“Which Red Condor? There’s been like five.”
“The original! He came out of retirement last year. Apparently, a vast fortune of stolen goods runs out eventually, especially with today’s medical bills. A million dollars in the Seventies isn’t the same as a million dollars today.”
“Cool, cool,” I said, not particularly concerned about dealing with a mid-level crook like the Red Condor. “What’s the ransom?”
“It’s not a ransom thing. He’s going to take the mayor out to the swamps and feed her to his pet alligators.”
I blinked. “Well that’s just not in theme at all. Also, why is he in Florida? Shouldn’t he be based in California or Arizona?”
“Eh, you go where the work is. I figure this is a chance for you to get some good publicity.”
“It’s not about the publ—”
I was interrupted from saying more by an armored limousine flying down the highway at ninety miles per hour while a jetpack-wearing, armored, orange birdman zipped behind it. Police cars were following them, only for the Red Condor to spin around and fire half a dozen micro-rockets that caused the vehicles to explode.
I looked over at the sight. “You could have told me they were right next to me!”
“Oh, are they? Well maybe I would have if you’d just shut up and let me speak!”
I smiled. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Cindy said. “Now don’t tell anyone or I will hunt you down and kill you.”
“Even our daughter?” I asked.
“Especially our daughter. She might grow up respecting me and that’s just asking for trouble. Now go chase the bad guy as I have a Ming vase to steal. Someone else here wants to say they love you.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Shut up!” a female voice on the other line said. “I’m not ready.”
The phone connection cut out.
“Okay, that was weird,” I muttered and took off into the air. Flying wasn’t really one of my powers, but I could levitate and if you levitated sideways, well, that was flying. I also had learned to pump up my speed significantly since acquiring a couple of obscenely powerful magical artifacts that I couldn’t use but gave me a niece boost.
“Ha, ha, ha! No one can stop me now, not even Ultragoddess!” The Red Condor said, laughing.
The Red Condor (aka Jose Juan Cortez) was a sphere bald man in his seventies, wearing a pair of aviator goggles that worked well for his fire-colored costume. I recalled reading about him fighting Ultragod growing up with my father’s ‘history comics’ only to have him transition to being one of Gabrielle’s (aka Ultragoddess) rogues. Personally, I felt that a guy with a jetpack and explosive feathers was a poor match for people who could move the moon out of orbit but that’s how the game worked these days. Sometimes you were the underdog and sometimes you were the boot instead of the ant.
“Uh, actually she’s in Afghanistan right now,” I said, coming up behind the man. “Props for the classic villainy lines, though. You’re a bit dated in your slang, though. Maybe it’s an Atlas City, though, though. I think I heard a gang of thugs call murdering a guy a swell way to pass the time.”
“Ugh, Merciless,” the Red Condor said, like I was a roach crawling across his shoe. Well, if he had shoes and was not flying at high speeds I could barely catch up with. Indeed, I was having to turn insubstantial while we flew just so the wind didn’t blind me. This was why flying superheroes tended to be invulnerable. There was no real point to it if you blinded yourself with windburn.
“Yeah, sorry to disappoint,” I said, glad to be dealing with an honest-to-god supervillain again. I wasn’t invited to the parties anymore and I hadn’t realized just how much I’d miss it until I wasn’t anymore.
“You can’t get in on this. This is my plot!” the Red Condor shouted back.
“Wait, what?” I asked.
“I am going to kill Ultragoddess! You got lucky by killing her father. Personally I don’t believe it, but I am going to cement my legacy by killing his daughter!”
I blinked. “Wait, you think I killed him?”
“Yes, obviously,” the Red Condor as he turned along the edge of the ocean with the limousine beneath him. “Didn’t you?”
I was so used to no villains taking me seriously, I’d forgotten it was still a rumor that I’d been the triggerman for Ultragod’s death. You know, instead of the guy who looked identical to me. Given Moses Anders had been my close friend, I was engaged to Ultragoddess, and I didn’t want everyone who wasn’t a supervillain to hate me, I wasn’t inclined to confirm it. As such, plenty of other people had filled in the gaps with stories about secret government conspiracies, lone gunmen, new supervillains, or jackasses like the Glue Man willing to take the credit.
“Let’s put a pin in that for a moment,” I said, pausing. “Your plan is to kidnap the mayor and kill her in order to lure Ultragoddess into a trap so you can kill her, too?”
I mentioned earlier the Red Condor was an old guy in an armored flight suit. The guy was in decent shape for his age and probably could tear into most superheroes who, you know, weren’t able to fly or were invulnerable. However, this seemed a bit like the mouse going after the lion. Ultragoddess had a few weaknesses like her father�
��Ultranium and magic—but nothing that was readily available to even your above average crook. It was about the only reason that I didn’t feel inclined to break the guy’s neck since I didn’t take threats to my loved ones well. (Finger wag) Superhero (finger wag) or not.
“Obviously!” The Red Condor said. “She has Ultra-Hearing so I can lure her back to the city via the mayor’s murder. Also, the jackass has promised to be tougher on supervillain crime. You know who that’s prejudiced against, right?”
“Minorities?”
“Supervillains!” The Red Condor said. “So, once they’re both dead, we’ll run this town!”
I debated telling the Red Condor that whenever a supervillain killed a superhero, that resulted in the entirety of superherodom descending to kick your ass. It had happened to me and I was about the only one still alive. Superheroes tended to be unable to save the villains from collapsing buildings, fires, or suspicious takings of their own lives. Funny how villains committing suicide seemed to happen most often when it couldn’t be verified.
“Yeah, well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop—” I started to say.
I was about to take the guy down when an energy blast sailed right into his jet pack before another one went through his head.
Then they started being fired at me.
An arrogant synthesized spoke behind me. “PREPARE TO BE TERMINATED, SUPERVILLAIN.”
Oh shit, the government had sent their Super Hit Squad after me. Yeah, did I mention one of those existed now?
Chapter Eleven
My Favorite Superhero (After Gabrielle)
“Mother puss bucket!” I said, feeling the heat of an energy blast that sent me flying out of the air.
I was insubstantial but some frequencies of energy should penetrate my magic. Yes, Super-Science was catching up with sorcery—isn’t that great? Yaaay. It burned the side of my cloak and against my flesh before sending me spiraling down toward the ground at speeds I was not terribly comfortable with hitting the ground.
“Ouch, damn, crap, hell, fudge!” I said, bouncing into a lesser city park near the highway. The ocean was visible beyond the edge of the highway and I had to admit a certain fondness for the view even as I felt like every bone in my body was aching.
Who the hell was attacking me? Who killed the Red Condor? That was when my attention turned to the sight of the person I’d come here to rescue. An explosion occurred right in front of the limousine containing the Condor’s henchmen and the kidnapped mayor. The attack, probably a missile, sent it flying over the guardrail before doing three flips across the ground. It landed about thirteen feet away from me with its driver’s seat completely crushed and henchman juice leaking out the side.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the mayor is dead,” I muttered, spitting up some blood on the ground. “You know, ever since I got my healing factor, I get my ass kicked a lot more.”
That was when I heard a jetpack settle down behind me. I turned my head and saw a chrome armored figure with a smooth faceplate. He was also wearing a cape. In his hands was an energy rifle with a rocket launcher attached to his rocket pack. Honestly, he looked like a just barely copyright friendly version of Jango Fett.
“Well if it isn’t Merciless,” a familiar voice spoke on the other end. It had a thick rural Florida twang filtered through a voice synthesizer. It was rather unmistakable. “This is going to be a red-letter day down at VICE.”
I coughed. “Scarab?”
The voice was of the Chrome Scarab, aka Jim Jameson, a C-List supervillain that wasn’t even up to the Red Condor’s level. He was also one of the people I’d recruited to serve on the side of good. He’d railed on me for being a snitch, traitor, turncoat, and other nastier words until I pointed out he actually made less than minimum wage after expenses as well as jailtime. Maintaining jetpacks being expensive, no matter how many ATMs you robbed in a day. I’d set him up with Darklight Security and a new job to get him off the street.
Unfortunately, the Chrome Scarab had proven to be one of the latter in the professional criminal versus psychopath distinction. Even being a mercenary for an organization that regularly broke international law hadn’t been enough to satisfy his inner bloodlust. Last I’d heard, he’d accepted a government contract and hopefully would put his inner psychopath to good use. I should have remembered there was no such thing under a government still rebuilding after President Omega’s takeover.
“It’s Rocketdeath now,” Jim said, his voice low and threatening. “I’m getting top of the line superhero technology now that I work for the government. Also, I get to keep the toy money and t-shirts. You did me a solid. Too bad I have to kill you now. You’re still registered as a supervillain, ya know?”
That was another thing making my days (as well as nights) harder. The Society of Superheroes and the Department of Supernatural Security were not on the same page these days. Superheroes had been briefly outlawed under President Karl Trust and while he’d rolled that back, they were still under pretty strict guidelines. I might have a pardon and be on the right side of the law with the SOS, but the cops didn’t see it that way. Indeed, some jackass had actually posted a million-dollar bounty for bringing me in. The only reason more supervillains didn’t try to do it was because, well, as stupid as some were, most realized that when you call the Feds you get pinched too.
However, as bad as the DSS was and a pain in the ass for superhumans, there was one group within it that was even worse: VICE. The Variant Intelligence Collective Enforcement agency. Which was one of those acronyms that came before what it supposedly stood for. They were guys who existed to track down Supers, search for their families, and tag anyone who could gain superpowers. They also went after aliens, magic-users, shifters, what few undead remained, and anything else that qualified as a variant from mundane humans. Lots of them were interred without trial, others deported from the planet or dimension, and even more separated from their families. It was the group that would have tried to take Leah and Mindy from me and Cindy.
“Rocketdeath?” I asked, getting up slowly. I felt like I was on fire and hated the fact that Jim had weapons that could hurt me. I’d help get him those, goddammit. “That’s what you’re going with, really?”
Jim’s back straightened and he looked to one side. “Listen, on the street you can just choose whatever codename you want, but all of the good ones are taken when you’re a hero. Literally millions of them have been trademarked. Some heroes have to rent theirs out from any dweeb who has five hundred bucks to reserve the rights. They even have a form online.”
“Why did you kill the Red Condor?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Uh, duh, because he’s a supervillain. It’s my job as a cop.”
“You’re not a cop,” I said, disgusted.
“Close enough,” Jim said, chuckling.
I felt my face. “Wasn’t he your friend? You were part of the Syndicate Seven a while back?”
“You know what they say, all’s fair in love and making a lot of money. The bounty for the Red Condor was fifty grand.”
“You can’t collect a bounty for a dead man,” I said, sighing. “This isn’t the Old West. Also, you just killed the mayor.”
I wasn’t about to point out that as a government employee, he wasn’t allowed to collect the bounties that the United States had put up for supervillains either. The government had tried to come to my mansion to collect both me and my child last year, part of the reason why I was in Atlas City now, and I’d successfully managed to intimidate them. Unfortunately, that had also resulted in the death of at least one Federal agent after he’d threatened my kids. It was why I wasn’t going to be a part of the Society of Superheroes anytime soon.
I’d live.
Honestly, facing down Rocketdeath here made me excited. He wasn’t the evil that Cindy had sent me down here to face but was one I would have absolutely no difficulty beating the living hell out of. I couldn’t put him in prison, but I was pretty sure bre
aking every bone in his body would keep him from anymore murder sprees. Maybe that was my problem: I was too focused on guys on the wrong side of the law when the real nasties hid behind money and power.
“Eh, I’m pretty sure my bodycam will show you killing the mayor,” Rocketdeath said, raising his rifle. “The benefits of dummy AI editing. Now, I must bring you in alive to get paid. Stupid laws, but I’m fairly sure I can do that without you having limbs.”
See what I mean about the DSS not being on the same page? Therefore I kept having to kill the guys I wanted to redeem. “That’s not how anatomy works. At all.”
“Too bad,” Jim said, pulling the trigger as I prepared to blast him with the full power of my magic.
I didn’t get to, much to my surprise, as Rocketdeath’s rifle was pulled from his arms by a inky black tentacle of pure Nega-Force. It was, apparently, something quite a lot of heroes wielded these days. Standing nearby, using insect-like legs to push himself twenty feet off the ground, was the Super-Duper Splotch Man.
“Oh, Jim, you can take the murderous mercenary out of the suit but not the suit out of the murderous mercenary. Wait, no, that makes no sense,” Splotch said before launching himself forward with his extra-appendages and kicking Jim in the helmet. “Oh well, they can’t all be winners.”
Using my magic, I conjured a little white placard with a six point five on it. Just like if we were at the Olympics.
“A six point five?” Splotch said, shocked. “That was at least an eight and a half.”
“I’m sorry but I’m not easily impressed,” I said, watching Jim aim the rocket launcher on his back at us.
I proceeded to freeze it over and the object misfired, becoming a burned-out useless wreck. Really, it’s impressive when you can get an object to freeze on its top when it’s so hot it melts through the backpack of a “superhero” below. Jim swore a blue streak before aiming his wrist gauntlet lasers.
“So, how did you get here, Super-Duper Splotch Man?” I asked, ignoring Jim.
The Supervillainy Saga (Book 7): The Horror of Supervillainy Page 10