by Matt Cowper
“I’m sure he did,” Deathrain said. “Probably why he’s dying, too.”
“What do you know about him?” I asked.
“Not much besides the basics,” she replied. “Enemy of Captain Neptune, loves to befoul things, as his name suggests. Experimented on humans – maybe experimented on Neptune. Created all sorts of serums, poisons, pills, venoms, and so on. Some are beneficial – most hurt.”
“Good thing you’ve got a healing factor,” I said.
“Actually, that’s why I needed time to prepare,” Deathrain said. “My powers can combat most poisons, but I’m sure Befouler has something that can outrace my regeneration. I had to get an equalizer.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Overdrive Juice,” Deathrain said. She pulled out a small vial filled with a bright red liquid. “A dose of this, and I’ll be able to shrug off anything he throws at me.”
“You know, that’s the stuff that turned Captain Neptune into a raging sociopath.”
“No, it’s one of many things,” Deathrain replied. “I’m not going to sample all of the world’s drugs like he apparently did. This is a one-time thing.”
“So you’ve never taken Overdrive Juice before?”
“I’ve used it a few times in the past, when I knew my body was going to take a lot of punishment. Some jobs can’t be completed by just sniping someone.”
“So it’s not a one-time thing.”
“Will you fucking stop?” Deathrain said, stepping around an overturned forklift. “Jesus, I can’t believe I went to bed with you.”
“Do not let his misguided concern bother you,” Dak rumbled. “Our partnership still flourishes, does it not? I foretell there will be many sweaty debauches between us in the future.”
“Maybe,” Deathrain said, turning away quickly. “No promises, though.”
We continued on, the mood now one of forced professionalism. Something had changed between me and Deathrain back at my office – how could it not? She’d lied to me about so many things – and then there was that one-and-done in the jungle with Waverush.
Was Waverush right? Did she just use whatever man happened to be nearby to satisfy her sexual urges?
Not to mention, she didn’t really like me at all – Dak was the one who aroused her. I was just tagging along on this chaotic sexual journey.
“Why are you still involved in all this?” I asked after a few minutes. “You told me you wanted to kill the person who dropped your target, to keep yourself at the top of the assassin leaderboard or whatever, but that was a lie.”
“I want revenge,” Deathrain said, “but Captain Neptune’s already dead. So I’m going to kill a bunch of other people entangled in this mess to make me feel better.” The eyes that regarded me were ice; I might as well have been one of her marks. “It’s that simple.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, “and it’s wrong – and unprofessional. Killing them won’t change what Neptune did to you.”
“Oh, you’re going to give me that little speech?” she said. “Spare me. Your moralizing isn’t going to convince me that all life is sacred, and that I’m evil for killing people to improve my mood. And as far as professionalism goes, you don’t know a damn thing about my line of work.”
“I know enough,” I said, “and I don’t think you’re evil. But just lashing out at everything—”
“Please shut up,” she growled. She doubled her pace to keep from talking to me.
“Do as she said,” Dak rumbled. “You are trying to tame a whirlwind, or turn a wolverine into a house pet. It will not happen – nor should it.”
Ignoring Dak, I stared at Deathrain’s fast-moving form. I’d corner her up – sometime – and make her talk about what had happened down in the jungle, make her realize she was acting like a madwoman, not an efficient assassin.
Actually, that might not be the best argument to make.
“We’ve already been walking for thirty minutes,” Deathrain said, “and no sign of him. Any ideas where he is?”
“When in doubt, head towards the biggest building,” I said. I pointed to a giant mass in the distance. “That’s our destination.”
We trudged along, wary of booby traps or sneak attacks, but we made it to the large building untouched. One part of me was glad we hadn’t been sprayed with toxic sludge or been attacked by vat-grown mutants, but another part suspected this tranquility was a ruse. Befouler had to show sometime – that he hadn’t shown yet probably meant he was cooking up something extra-painful for us.
“This looks like the central building,” Deathrain said as we approached the four-story cube, “where all the cubicle clowns shuffled paper.” She looked up at the broken windows and the rusted flagpole stabbing out of what had once been a pleasant courtyard. “Look at it now – just an empty hunk of concrete and metal. Industrial capitalism at its finest. Makes me proud to be an American.”
“Careful, you’ll offend conservatives with talk like that,” I said. “Come on, let’s ring the doorbell and see if Befouler’s home.”
“Why would we ring the doorbell when we can force our entry?” Dak rumbled. “Let us destroy the door or doors to this place with an awesome blast of pure destructive energy.”
“Yet another mortal saying you’ve misinterpreted,” I said.
We walked towards what had been the main entrance. Now the sliding glass doors were shattered and permanently inert, and the remaining carpet was discolored and moldy. I stepped around the few hanging glass shards that remained, but Deathrain just walked ahead in a straight line, letting the glass cut her.
She was hurting herself again, like she’d done at Razzle Dazzle, to get herself roused for battle. I was disturbed, like I had been before, but I didn’t comment on her masochism. It would just lead to another argument, with Dak of course taking her side.
We were in a large lobby, a space that used to be well-lit and sleekly corporate, but that was now as oppressive as a tomb. The very air seemed to be weighing me down. I sniffed, and thought I detected a musty odor.
“Something smells…off,” I said. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a small gas mask. I’d used it back in the Daring Destroyer days, and it had kept supervillain gas-attacks from melting my brain or turning me into a lycan-zombie. It was Netmaster-designed, so it should still function properly.
“Where did you get that?” Deathrain asked after I’d strapped the thing on.
“From Yay-Mart,” I said. “It was on sale. Why do you ask?”
“Quit being a smart-ass,” she said. “I’m just curious. It looks well-made – probably better than the ones I’ve got.” She said this grudgingly; I didn’t think she was used to having inferior equipment.
“If you’re interested in purchasing one, I’ll get in touch with my guy,” I said. “For now, though, maybe you should put on one of those masks you’ve got.”
“Good idea,” she said. She pulled out the mask she’d worn when she’d rescued me two days ago and attached it over her leather mask.
I looked out through my gas mask’s goggles. “Where’s Befouler? I expected a welcoming party by now.”
“So did I,” Deathrain said, “and I’m getting impatient.” She pulled out a hand grenade, and before I could say anything, she threw it to the center of the room. I ducked, and a hot, ear-splitting blast shook the building. Gunshots followed – was Befouler attacking us? No – it was Deathrain, firing two pistols at the wall. After draining both magazines, she jumped up onto a once-plush chair, sending up a cloud of dust.
“Come out, you coward!” she shouted. “We know you hear us, Befouler!”
We waited, but this challenge remained unanswered. Muttering to herself, Deathrain holstered her pistols and marched across the lobby, to an open door at the back. I jogged after her.
“Maybe he’s not here,” I said.
“He is,” Deathrain said, “and I’m going to find him.”
We walked down desolate hallways and p
eered into empty offices, but there was no sign of the supervillain. We climbed up to the second floor, then the third, then the fourth – still nothing. This depressing, decaying building felt like a villain hideout, but if it was, Befouler had hidden himself within it well.
“Where. Is. He.” Deathrain said, clenching her fists so tightly I thought her knuckles would split.
“Maybe we missed something,” I said. “Supervillains love subterranean lairs, don’t they? Let’s backtrack and see if there’s a basement access.”
We returned to the first floor, and scanned each room more closely. None of them, however, held any secrets. I was beginning to get frustrated too – though compared to Deathrain, I had achieved nirvana – until we opened up a broom closet and saw a telling sign on the wall: a handprint.
“Huh,” I said, squinting at it. “We missed this the first time through.”
Deathrain ran a hand along the black stain. “It has to be his. He was probably messing around with some of his chemicals and accidentally touched this spot. Just goes to show: it pays to wash up.”
“But is this…wait…look.” I pointed at the floor, which had gouges running across it in an arcing direction – obviously from a door.
“Dak, a beam, please,” I said. “Send it into the far wall.”
“I believe a beam infused with pink destructive energy will suffice,” Dak rumbled. “Pink is preferred by females, is it not, my lady?”
“I don’t care if you shoot out a polka-dotted blast,” Deathrain growled, “as long as that wall blows up.”
Dak’s rumbling altered slightly; he clearly wasn’t happy his romantic gesture had failed. Still, the beam that extended from my hand was bright pink; it brought to mind dolls, hair bows, and pixie-voiced young girls. I never thought a God of Destruction would fire a pink beam. What would he summon next, glitter showers and chirping cartoon birds?
Pink or not, there was power in the beam, and it ripped through the wall/hidden door with ease. Wood and plaster collapsed onto the closet floor, and a cloud of dust coated us. I was actually surprised – I expected a villain of Befouler’s caliber to have an ultimatium door protecting the entrance to his lair, but anyone with a sledgehammer could have beaten their way through this.
Deathrain stepped through the dust cloud and looked into the hole I’d created.
“There’s a staircase, heading down,” she said. “Let’s go.”
I followed, walking carefully on the metal steps. Surely the toxic baddie would have traps here, or at least sensors that would detect our movement – but, as with the rest of the building, nothing hindered us.
We reached the bottom, coming out of the winding stairwell into a tight space lit by pale blue overhead lights. I took a few steps, and nearly slipped; the floor was covered with translucent slime. Knowing the man we were hunting, I didn’t think it was a cleaning agent.
“What’s this crap?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Deathrain said. She bent down and ran her index finger along the shimmering substance, then looked at the finger closely. She quickly removed her mask, took a whiff, and then put the mask back on. “Not corrosive to flesh, and it doesn’t smell. Actually, I don’t smell much of anything down here. It just smells musty, like an old attic.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, making sure my mask was still firmly in place.
We walked through the slime, looking at our dim surroundings. We passed large empty cylinders that reached to the low ceiling, control panels and wires at their bases. I studied the panels while Deathrain tapped and prodded the glass.
“It looks like things were grown in these,” I said. “Befouler was known for his…well, unethical experiments.”
“There’s nothing here now, in any of them,” Deathrain said. “Some of the glass is cracked and chipped, and these wires are frayed – it looks like they haven’t been used in months.”
“I was looking forward to battling mutant clones of radioactive-spider-powered superheroes,” Dak rumbled, “but it appears this cloistered lair holds no challenge for Dakroth’gannith’formaz.”
“Don’t be so sure, Dak,” I said. “Stay alert until we figure out what’s going on.”
We kept walking, passing by dozens more empty cylinders. I was beginning to think this corridor went on for miles, when in the distance I noticed flickering lights. I squinted, and I could just make out a large electronic screen.
“You see that?” I said.
“Yes,” Deathrain replied, doubling her pace.
I didn’t try to keep up; I’d only end up flat on my back and covered in whatever this jelly stuff was. For all her agility, I saw Deathrain was having trouble walking at a brisk pace; she nearly slipped several times, and had to shoot out a steadying hand to one of the cylinders to keep from falling.
As we came closer to the flickering screen, I saw a large metal contraption rising from the floor – and a man sitting in it. It looked like a giant chair combined with an iron lung – maybe a life support system for Befouler?
Several more yards, and the man glanced at us with a vulture-like gaze. Befouler, it had to be – though this shriveled, bald, wheezing figure bore little resemblance to the stocky, wild-haired man I’d seen in news clips.
“Befouler?” I said.
“The same,” the man replied, “although, from your expression, you were expecting someone a little more…robust.”
That was an understatement. The man before me looked like he could barely pick up a piece of paper, and the machine looked like it had captured him and was trying to swallow him whole. His entire lower body was invisible, and at least a dozen wires ran from his mummy-like body into the computer console behind him. I looked up at the screen that had drawn us to him – it was displaying his vital signs, and although I wasn’t a doctor, it was obvious that they weren’t good.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Surely you know this, all the investigating you’ve been doing,” Befouler rasped. “You know I’m dying. Spent too many years meddling with chemicals, undertook too many experiments, meddled with Mother Nature too arrogantly.” A racking cough shook his body. “Now look at me.”
“Your frailty embarrasses me,” Dak rumbled. “Why have you not committed suicide? There is obviously nothing more you can do with your life, except sit there and expectorate whatever fetid substances have collected in the passageways of your body.”
“Maybe I will kill myself,” Befouler said, with a ghastly grin, “but not yet. I still have some items on my to-do list.”
“You deserve your fate,” Deathrain said. “Play with fire, you get burned.” She slid out a knife and pointed it at Befouler. “We’ve got some questions. Answer them, or your death rattle will come sooner than you think.”
“You think a blade scares me, woman?” Befouler said. “As soon as you broke my skin, my blood would melt your weapon.” Another grin. “Oh yes, it’s a potent acid – one of my many defenses.”
“I have more than one knife,” Deathrain said, “and I have a healing factor, and a protective mask. Your ‘defenses’ don’t scare me.”
“Yes – a healing factor,” Befouler said. “I could use one of those right about now.” A fleshless finger pressed a button. “So considerate of you for coming.”
There was a hiss, and then a thunk. I crouched down instinctively, but whatever had been fired hadn’t been aimed at me – it had been aimed at Deathrain. A large dart of some sort was sticking out of her stomach. She looked down at it contemptuously.
“What is this, some sort of poison?” she said. She reached into a pocket, pulled out the vial of Overdrive Juice, and downed it. “Whatever it is, my healing factor just got boosted to godlike levels – no offense, Dak. Nothing you can throw at me will stop me.”
“Such confidence,” Befouler said, “and such stupidity.”
For a second, the Overdrive Juice had made Deathrain practically glow with healing energy. Now she suddenly doub
led over, and let out a scream that gave me goosebumps; I never thought a woman like her would scream like that.
“My love!” Dak roared. “What dread poison has he afflicted you with?”
“Do you think I’ve never heard of Overdrive Juice, or never fought superheroes with healing factors?” Befouler said. “Your arrogance amazes me, Deathrain.”
“What the hell is happening to her?!” I yelled, pointing my God Fist at him.
“I’ve injected her with two very potent substances,” Befouler said. “The first is a fast-acting poison I’ve named Medusa’s Gaze. It makes anthrax look like a flu virus.” He rubbed his hands together. “If her healing factor was boosted by Overdrive Juice, she could fight it off easily. But that’s where the other substance comes in – I call it Backfire. Its sole purpose is to dissolve the chemical bonds of Overdrive Juice. Her healing factor is running at normal levels, and so she has no chance.”
“Undo your treacherous work, demon,” Dak rumbled, “or I will—”
“Your God Arm is amusing, Mr. Wagner,” Befouler said. “I’d love to study it – once I remove it from your shoulder, of course.” He cackled like some evil witch. “To be clear, I don’t want to kill your friend; she may be the key to saving my life. That doesn’t mean I won’t let her suffer a bit, though.”
My God Arm churned red and black, and it emitted a sizzling noise. Dak was so furious, he couldn’t speak. I wanted to melt this bastard just as much as he did, but if I killed him, Deathrain would die. If he didn’t want her dead, he knew how to counteract the poison.
“Fix her,” I said, grabbing his skeletal arm, “or you get hurt. Badly.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “You have your own problems.”
He tried to press another button near him, but I slammed his hand down onto the metal with my God Fist, feeling the brittle bones crunch. Befouler grimaced, but didn’t seem as concerned as he should be.
“You’re not pressing any more buttons,” I said. “Now, you—”
“I don’t need to press anything,” he said. “That’s just for show. My mind is wired into everything down here. I think it, and it is so.”