by Matt Carter
“Strictly speaking, it wasn’t. I’m supposed to tell you it’s the worst choice you’ve ever made in your life because villains are, officially, an evil that needs to be eradicated for the peace and greater good of this planet. Unofficially… well, let’s just say you decided to make the worst choice of your life at the right time. We’ve been putting Project Kayfabe together for about two years now, gradually removing candidates from society, and then you came along and killed Icicle Man and changed the whole game. You moved our plans up by something like six months, because we knew we had to get our hands on you right away.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I just wish you knew how really important you were. You study much history in school?”
“It was my favorite subject.”
Amazingly enough, this wasn’t a lie.
“You ever hear of the old limey concept called ‘The White Man’s Burden’?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I don’t blame you, it’s a bullshit concept from a bullshit time that was made irrelevant by the public rise of the supers. It basically stated that the white, civilized world had an obligation to spread its values and protect the rest of the world from itself, which is complete nonsense. Skin color doesn’t determine superiority; the very fact that anyone can be born super or made super through a hundred different external factors proves that. As for values, who’s to say what’s right and wrong in a society so long as nobody’s getting hurt? But that’s the problem: people can get hurt, and that’s where the theory has some merit. Some of us do have an obligation to protect the world from itself. But you’ve already heard that speech, haven’t you?”
I had, but hearing it from him somehow gave it a lot more weight. Now I could see that they were making, no, asking us to be both villains and heroes.
“Wow.”
He smiled. “Yeah, wow sums it up, doesn’t it? Nicolai, have that suit ready and waiting at the New York store by six o’clock local.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Archer,” the tailor said, making a beeline for their computer.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s a surprise. Kind of a way to cap off the day. Don’t worry, I think you’ll like it,” he said. “So, what would you like to do until then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a fully charged Tri-Hole generator, and we’ve got six hours until showtime. The world is our playground. Just name it, and we’ll do it.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Images of sweaty, naked women entwined around me flashed before my eyes, but not as readily as I’d have expected, not after last night. Other ideas, things I’d always wanted to try but couldn’t do within the confines of Hacklin’s Hall, Indiana, came to mind.
And so we spent much of the day hopping around the world through Tri-Holes. Within half an hour I got to sightsee what felt like half the world, from the Taj Mahal to the Grand Canyon to the ruins of Honolulu in New R’lyeh. We went to theme parks, sang karaoke in Tokyo, rode go-karts, played paintball, and had the most fun I’d ever had in a single day. Everywhere we went, we got the celebrity treatment, people cheering and loving Helios and asking for his autograph, and I got to be there soaking it all in.
Helios himself turned out to be a lot cooler than I would have expected. I mean, you see the ads, you see the movies, you watch all the gossip and paparazzi shows and you think you know who a person really is, but then you spend time with them and you learn all sorts of new things. Like how he studied philosophy and collected art in his free time. Like how before he was a celebrity with a mansion and a supermodel girlfriend he was awkward and bad at school and didn’t become anyone until he’d manifested his powers. Or how he was one of the only people I’d ever met who actually asked me questions about who I was and what I liked, and even though I didn’t have much to say, he still listened.
He got us to New York in time for whatever his surprise was. We dressed to the nines in the suits he’d ordered up (not too formal, very cool, very classy) and met a limo outside the shop. Inside were two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. One I recognized from all the gossip shows as Adriana Alton, one of the most famous supermodels in the world. The other, a slender and seductive Atlantean (even with her pale blue skin) was introduced to me as Venera, Adriana’s protégé. Apparently we were going to the annual Carina’s Corner lingerie show, and since Venera’s date had backed out at the last minute, Helios had roped me in as backup. Oh darn.
So I walked the red carpet with Helios on one side and one of the most beautiful women in the world on my arm. We got front row seats along with a number of other celebrities to watch these women walk the runway in some of the hottest and skimpiest outfits I had ever seen. After the show we attended an after-party where Helios introduced me to all the models and a lot of the other celebrities who showed up (rappers, athletes, actors, politicians, superheroes, you name it). As none of them knew about Project Kayfabe, I had to keep up the personal assistant act. He kept me by his side the entire time as a friend and confidante.
He made me feel special.
I now had an answer for what I’d say if he’d asked what I wanted to do with my life: I wanted to be Helios.
Just, you know, the supervillain version.
We left the party early after Helios had gotten a call from one of the other Kayfabe superheroes. They talked for a long time out of earshot, and when he took me to the limo, I couldn’t read his face.
I couldn’t help asking, “So… how’d I do?”
“If it were up to me, I’d say you were in, but my vote only counts for so much,” he said.
“I know. Thanks, at least.”
He pulled the Tri-Hole generator from his pocket and opened one up before us.
“You know how this goes,” he said. “I really hope to see you on the team, because I had an awesome time today.”
“Me too,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Ah, come here,” he said, pulling me in for a bear hug. “Good luck. Hope to see you out in a cape soon.”
“Me too,” I said, looking at the glowing, crackling hole that floated a few feet before me. I was struck, briefly, with the crazy urge to make a run for it. He was tipsy, I could probably give him the slip, maybe even a good fight if I had to. But then you wouldn’t have a chance at this life. You’d be a runaway your entire life, an enemy of the state and the heroes, and where’s the fun in that?
Feeling the Creeper twitch beneath my sternum confirmed my decision.
I stepped through the Tri-Hole.
I landed hard in a dark room. The floor was cold and hard. Marble. I could sense people around me.
Then there was a drum roll. A dramatic musical swell. Dim lights fading up, showing us in a large round room. A proud, male voice on a loudspeaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the world’s newest supervillain team: the New Offenders!”
There was applause, artificial, for our benefit I’m sure, but I could barely hold back my excitement.
A bright light before me illuminated first the flag of Indiana, almost hovering in midair, before shining on a glass tube beneath it that held a mannequin in a stylized and very cool, professional version of my Apex Strike suit.
“From the United States, hailing from the great state of Indiana… APEX STRIKE!”
A spotlight hit me. I cheered and jumped as the fake applause grew louder.
Another light illuminating a swirling orange, round flag. A glass tube holding a wax figure of a terrifying, green-furred demon.
“From the Third Circle of Hell… HELLSPAWN!”
The light then hit a teenage boy with spiky brown hair who quickly transformed back into Odigjod. He collapsed onto the ground, laughing and clapping.
“From the British Empire’s Realm of New Zealand… TROJAN FOX!”
The stylized silver and orange mech suit in the glass tube was as sleek and sexy as
the name was awful. I was sure it’d give Firewall (Trojan Fox) a fit, but she just looked relieved. She had the beginning of a black eye, which when combined with her sparkly cocktail dress, bloodied knuckles, and new mechanical legs really had me wondering just what happened on her Archnemesis Day.
“From France… NEVERMORE!”
Nice.
“From Tokyo Prefecture, Japan… CIRCUS!”
I was indifferent toward Circus, but was sure he’d make for a fun teammate.
“From Uruguay… GEODE!”
Felix looked like he was ready to pass out.
That left one spot. I had a good feeling that it would be Ghost Girl. Everybody else I liked was here (well, minus Showstopper), so why wouldn’t they put her on the team? She was smart, she was sexy, and even a little creepy, everything they should have wanted in a supervillain.
“And finally… from the United States, hailing from the great state of Ontario… CARNIVORE!”
He raised his arms in the air and let out a primal roar when the light hit him.
My heart sank slightly. I liked Ghost Girl; I was really hoping to improve my sex with her too. But there was something more to that, wasn’t there? Something more than what happened that night. She was my friend. My best friend, probably. We may not always have agreed, but I always looked forward to my time with her.
I tried to put a good spin on it, I tried to think positively. I’d gotten what I’d wanted, and shouldn’t that have been enough?
After all, I’d made it.
I was a supervillain.
#Supervillainy101: Lairs
If you want to be a supervillain, you’re going to need a lair. Sure, some villains stayed mobile, but most of them were among the first captured during the War on Villainy. Lairs give you a place to take off your costume, relax, and enjoy your piles of money.
Of course, if you’re going to have a lair, you need to put some thought into it.
Don’t Operate Out of Your Home
The Skeleton Brothers and Crazy Cassie learned that, even with superpowers, urban apartment complexes and suburban condos (respectively) aren’t secure when the Protectors start bursting through the doors, walls, ceiling, and even floors if Muck was on duty. No amount of powers, guns, or guard dogs are going to keep them out when all you’ve got between them and your loot is some cheap drywall.
Don’t Be Too Clever
Sure, you might think camping out in an abandoned facility themed to your particular identity and power set may be fun, but whenever a clown-themed villain is on the loose, the first place the heroes will come looking is the abandoned playing card factory or amusement park.
Don’t Use Security Systems You Can’t Control
The Zombie King learned this one the hard way. His compound in central Nevada was well-fortified, and his army of ten thousand radioactive zombies was certainly dangerous (and radioactive). Of course, being zombies, they turned on him and his minions the moment they were unleashed (on live television, no less, when he was making a speech about how unbeatable he was). Since this problem more or less fixed itself and was still highly radioactive, the Protectors just put a fence around his territory and said they’d take care of it when the War was over. Budget reasons kept this from ever happening, but the Great Fence of the Zombie King is an impressive tourist destination to this day.
#LessonLearned: Be sensible when choosing and setting up your lair.
#LessonLearned: If you can’t or don’t want to be sensible, invest in a good force field.
11
THE NEW OFFENDERS
It was only after the lights came up, revealing us to be in the lush foyer of a mansion, that someone posed the obvious question.
“Where the fuck are we?” Carnivore asked.
“Death Manor. Other side of the island,” Odigjod said, touching the glass tube with his giant, wax counterpart inside, a look like awe on his tiny, terrible face. The image consultants were right to pick Hellspawn as a good villain name for him, but I’d never be able to think of him that way.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Odigjod did exploring on the other side of the force field in training. Curious what island was like. Saw the heroes fixing this place up.”
As usual, the imp never ceased to amaze.
“We’re still stuck here?” Carnivore said, running a hand through his coarse hair. “Son of a bitch.”
“Would you rather see the Tower’s miles of smiles?” Trojan Fox said, trying to readjust her torn dress.
“No,” Carnivore replied.
“Then stop bitching and lighten up. We’ve made the team. You don’t have to keep the macho bullshit up,” she said, climbing one of the nearby curving staircases. “We gotta have rooms here somewhere. I’m gonna find some real clothes and see if Professor Death’s lab is still intact! God knows that suit’s gonna need some work!”
She was only slightly unsteady on the mechanical legs her archnemesis must have given her, but they looked close enough to the real thing that she clearly didn’t mind.
Carnivore, Odigjod, and Circus soon went in search of the kitchen, leaving Nevermore, Felix, and myself.
Felix looked at his glass tube with less awe and more nervousness than Odigjod had, but his relief was plain.
“So, Geode, huh?” I said.
He shot me a faint smile. “Yes. The image consultants thought it would be best.”
“It’s cool. Strong. I could totally see that on a meme. Awesome name for a villain.”
“It would have been better for a hero.”
“But you’re not a hero.”
He sighed. “No, I guess I’m not. But I’m not in the Tower, either. That will have to do.”
“Want to check out the mansion?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I think I will find my room too and sleep. It has been a long month.”
With that he climbed the curving staircase and was quickly out of sight.
“I would like to check out the mansion,” Nevermore said. She was looking at a tablet, scrolling across what appeared to be a floor plan. “It looks quite luxurious.”
“Where’d you get that?” I asked.
“This? I found it in a compartment beneath my costume, you should have one too.” She was right. I pulled out my tablet and turned it on, getting a cheerful message welcoming me to the rechristened “New Offenders Mansion,” and giving a long list of rules for our stay here that all ended with threats of us being sent to the Tower or having our Creepers (which would stay in us as long as we were villains) set off. The tablet couldn’t connect to the Internet (at least, not yet; Trojan Fox could probably fix that), but it did have detailed files on the mansion, our costumes, basically everything a supervillain could need.
There was no Tetris, but it was better than the tablet I had at home, so I wasn’t going to complain.
Nevermore looked gorgeous, in her usual goth sort of way. Her long-sleeved shirt covered up all her tattoos, but it, and her leather skirt for that matter, were tight enough to make it not matter. Besides, I’d already seen her naked a lot, but somehow seeing her clothed seemed hotter.
I wonder if her boobs feel the same, or better, than Ghost Girl’s.
That hurt to think about—more than I would have expected.
As usual, talking with Nevermore was a struggle. It wasn’t as easy to find common ground like it was with Ghost Girl (stop it), and we both got through talking about what had happened on our Archnemesis Days quickly, though we both got a laugh when she brought up how, in the middle of their high-end shopping trip, Morningstar had proposed a threesome with her husband.
“What’d you say?”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“Seriously?”
She shrugged, brushing some of that perfect black hair from her eye. “What? Morningstar is gorgeous, and have you seen Silver Shrike’s calendars? Stretched out on the beach, oiled and glistening and tanned…”
“Well, th
at’s not something I ever really put a lot of thought into.”
“You should,” she said. “I mean, not necessarily about Silver Shrike, because I know that’s not what you are interested in. I just meant… we could die at any time. One moment we’re swirling our capes around us, the next we are shot in the head by some security guard with superhero dreams. We have to live like we are dying tomorrow, and the opportunities provided to us now mean we could live a lot more excitingly than we could have before, no?”
Call it getting caught up in the moment, call it stupid, pent up frustration, or call it a switch that got flipped after having sex with Ghost Girl (stop it!), but I walked over to her and kissed her on the lips. She kissed me back, and though she tasted vaguely of liquor and tobacco, it was nice.
How many people have their first kiss after they’ve lost their virginity?
She smiled when we parted. “See, that’s the spirit.”
“What’s your name? I mean, your real name.”
She took a step back, her face not entirely pleasant, but reforming the smile quickly. “Nevermore.”
“But your—”
“It’s all that matters now, right?” she said. “Who we were, what we were, none of that matters anymore. Come on, let’s explore.”
And so, we ignored our problems together and explored our new lair. They must have refurbished the mansion to look a lot like it had in its heyday, because it was decked out with swinging 60s stylings, lots of bright colors, mirrors, fake potted plants, and even a couple go-go cages in the rec room (though the giant flatscreen and rack of game systems were nice additions as modernizations go).
It was when we got to the armory that we first got our hands on our new costumes, hanging in lockers.
“We should try them on,” she said.
“Sure!” I agreed, though I was indifferent to wearing more clothes now.
Our lockers were on opposite sides of the row, so we could not look at each other as we changed.
“This is much better than what I used to wear,” she said. “An old corset, tattered skirt, fishnet stockings and sleeves, cheap domino mask held on by string. It was what could be put together on a budget, but it made me look more like a cheap dominatrix. So glad I was not caught in it, or I’d have had to train in it.”