Evil Genius

by Logan Jacobs

  “It’s not over yet,” Optimo said grimly. He pointed at the ankle of his most recent opponent. “He’s got a crocodile tattoo. All of them do.”

  “That’s The Chief’s symbol,” said the red-clad superhero, who had apparently made it outside without injury. “This was his doing.”

  She was too far away for me to get a good look at her face, but she was standing closer to me now than she had been inside the building, and I thought her figure was pretty spectacular, as were almost all superheroines’.

  The crowd gasped at this new revelation, even though I guessed most of them had no idea who The Chief was.

  I narrowed my eyes at a revelation of my own. Optimo was familiar with The Chief, and he had just lied about it before because it clearly wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss with me.

  “The Chief does not want the C.D.S. to launch,” Optimo said as he shook his head. “That’s what this means. Tonight was a warning that if the C.D.S. launches, more innocents will die.”

  “So we, as The Wardens, must hunt him down and stop him,” the red-clad superhero said. The Killer Kitten, who had taken a break from teasing her fans playfully with her whip, sashayed over to stand beside her and emphasized the statement by holding up her hand like a claw and hissing.

  “But until we do, it is not safe to launch the C.D.S.,” Optimo added. “Or Pinnacle City will pay a heavy price. As we have seen tonight.”

  “Farewell, Pinnacle City,” called out Impervius, who seemed to me like the biggest dumbass of the lot, even if Optimo was more of an asshole. He could’ve easily trapped the Purple Menace inside one of his bubbles instead of letting the Purple Menace trap him and ultimately needing to be rescued by one of the other superheroes. He saluted. “Until next time you need us! We’ll be here to serve you!”

  As if on cue, a cavalcade of limos rolled up, each of them painted to match the color scheme of one of the six superheroes’ suits, and all of them waved and blew kisses at their fans before climbing into their designated vehicles and getting whisked away.

  “Hey, who was the girl in red?” I asked a man in a baseball cap nearby.

  He blinked at me in surprise and said, “Oh, that’s Dynamo. Think she’s my new favorite after tonight.”

  “That makes two of us,” I muttered under my breath as I pressed the button on my watch for my armored limo.

  “Hey, wait a second, are you Miles Nelson?” the man asked as his eyes opened wide.

  I pretended not to hear him as I put my arm around Norma’s waist and hurried her off to our limo. We actually had to go one block over to avoid all the crowds, and I held the door open for her before I glanced around to make sure we weren’t followed.

  “What a fucking disaster,” I sighed once we were safely inside the air-conditioned comfort of the backseat and the tinted windows shielded us from prying eyes.

  “Yeah, so many people died needlessly,” Norma whispered. “With so many superheroes around, you’d think they could have prevented it or at least limited the damage a lot more.”

  “Yeah, you’d think,” I said. “But it seems to me that Optimo was a lot more upset about the idea of the C.D.S. than he was about The Chief launching a terrorist attack on the gala. So maybe they’re not all as clumsy and bumbling against supervillains as they seem. Maybe they have more in common with the supervillains than everyone realizes.”

  “You mean their suits all kind of look alike?” Norma asked.

  “No,” I said. “I mean they all just want a fucking audience. That’s what it comes down to.”

  “Hmm,” Norma said. “Well, what are you going to do about all this?”

  “I’m sure that Jonah Clark delivered my warning from Friday to The Chief, like a good little rabbit,” I replied. “But The Chief decided to go through with this gala attack anyway. Dozens of people died. And now Optimo wants to use it as a pretext to delay the launch of the C.D.S. indefinitely. So now there’s really only one thing to do.”

  “Stop waiting on the superheroes to disappoint us and go after The Chief ourselves?” Norma guessed, and I grinned at her.

  Sometimes, my assistant definitely seemed above average.

  “You did great tonight,” I said as I leaned back in my chair and let out a long sigh.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said as she blushed slightly.

  “And your dress was very sexy. Did I tell you that?”

  “You didn’t say the sexy part,” she whispered as she moved her fingers up to wipe away the dirt, dust, grime, and mud from her face. She had lost her shoes after she kicked them off to be able to run, her gown was slipping down in the front, and her hair had gotten pretty disheveled, but all in all, her appearance was improved, if anything.

  I didn’t have a mirror to examine myself, but a quick glance down at my suit confirmed that it was covered with dust and grime.

  I suddenly wanted to take a shower, but there was a lot of work to do.

  “Miles?” she asked, and I realized that I’d been staring out the window and watching the city streets blur by.

  “It’s time to hit The Cellar, Norma,” I said. “The superheroes are never going to really fight the villains, so you and I are going to take up the war. And we are actually going to make a difference.”

  Miles Chapter Seven

  “Are you two okay?” Aileen inquired in tones of concern as soon as we arrived home.

  “Of course we are,” I said, even though I knew we both looked like a mess.

  “I’ve been processing live news updates,” Aileen explained. “Most of them are focused on Optimo’s wrestling match with the Goliath on the roof. But one of them said that you were just as much of a hero as the superheroes. That you took down the Evil Eye single handedly!”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Neville hit him first. Neville Wilson of the Pinnacle City Police Department. I’ll have to reach out to the outlet and correct that.”

  “But you were the one to focus on evacuating all those people,” Norma said. “You saved more lives than anyone tonight.”

  “I couldn’t have been as effective without your help,” I told her. “You were absolutely the best date I could have asked for tonight.”

  My assistant smiled from ear to ear, and I marveled at how unfazed she seemed by the horrible events she had just witnessed in the last few hours. She really was cut out for this job.

  “The attack is being attributed to a supervillain called The Chief, who wasn’t present, but who apparently sent all the other villains there,” Aileen said. “He uses a crocodile symbol that he tattoos all his followers with, and that’s how they figured it out. The parallels between the reported details of tonight’s incident and the details of Jonah Clark’s confession indicate that there is a high probability of this being the same individual who ordered the break-in here.”

  “That’s right, same guy,” I confirmed grimly as I turned to the various screens on my mansion walls playing news footage of the attack.

  All of them seemed to be talking about how brave and courageous The Wardens were.

  None of news reports had a death count listed.

  “Hmm, guess The Chief really wants to tango with you,” Aileen purred.

  “Some people just never learn,” I muttered as I turned away from the disappointing screens. “Norma, why don’t you change into something more comfortable, and get yourself something to eat and a coffee? I’ll meet you down in The Cellar whenever you’re ready.”

  “Okay,” Norma nodded, and then she hiked up her skirt and went off to go get ready.

  “Find me everything you can get on this Chief character and his associates,” I told Aileen as I made my way to the elevator. “If Optimo thinks he can dilly dally around and drag his feet on hunting him down, well, he’s just going to find a dead croc by the time he gets there.”

  “On it,” Aileen said.

  I descended the three floors to my glowing white home within a home. I stepped out and settled into m
y favorite leather chair and surveyed the majority of my screens at once.

  Aileen sighed heavily, and the sound echoed throughout the silent room from all of the speakers at once. Even the way she sighed was sexy as hell, and I glanced sideways toward the back of my laboratory. Her portable body was dormant in a corner for now. I couldn’t wait to complete it someday, but shit just kept getting in the way. First the C.D.S., which had been a massive project that still required some more fine-tuning, and now the gala attack, which might just be the latest development in some kind of massive superhero slash supervillain conspiracy if the rabbit was to be believed.

  “What’s wrong, Aileen?” I asked, afraid that I already knew the answer.

  “I’m drawing a blank on The Chief,” she replied. “Do you have any other kind of alias I could search? I already tried running the crocodile mask and crocodile tattoo details, but it’s just a slag heap of unrelated items.”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said. “I really don’t know much about him. Those supervillains he sent after me the first time were pretty lame. I assumed he’d be scared off after I wiped out the whole crew so easily. But the attackers at the gala seemed like they had stronger powers. So maybe he’s a bigger deal than I thought at first?”

  “Well, I do see a few brief mentions of him, in interviews with superheroes, but nothing that gives me any leads to follow up on,” Aileen said. “No clues as to his real identity or his location. No backstory. It’s almost like they’re intentionally withholding details to protect him. Stuff they would’ve had to know in order for these encounters to play out the way they’re reported… oh, wait, here’s something. An ATM at a bank where you developed the software overheard someone talking about work he was doing for The Chief.”

  “The Chief is a pretty generic term,” I replied as I spun my chair around to look at her half-completed body. “Can you give me some context?”

  “Here is the recording,” she said, and there was a blip of static.

  “Yeah, I’m just getting some money out so I can pay these fools. The Chief is giving me the easy job… What? Naw… I’m not going to be at the Gala. That’s why I’m taking the money out, so I can pay them so I don’t have to go. I don’t want to tangle with The Wardens.”

  The microphone picked up the sound of the cash being spit out of the machine, and then the man’s voice faded as he walked away.

  “Well, I suppose that is a bit of a breadcrumb for us to follow,” I said. “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “A Mr. Tuttle Galloway,” she answered.

  “Tuttle Galloway?” I repeated. “That’s his real name?”

  “Yup,” Aileen said. “Supervillain alias… The Virus. Hmm, that doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

  “What are his powers?” I asked.

  “Not registered,” Aileen responded. “And there are conflicting online rumors when I search his name.”

  “Where can I find him?” I continued my questioning.

  “Home address not available,” Aileen said. “But he’s linked to a commercial property in the Dullpenny district.”

  “What kind of property?” I asked.

  “Looks like it operates as a speakeasy,” Aileen replied. “That’s the façade, anyway. It’s called The Pig Puddle. The address is 409 Elderberry Road.”

  The elevator dinged, and Norma stepped out in sweats and a tee shirt with her hair tied back in a ponytail and carrying a box of pizza.

  “Okay, well, if that’s the most direct link you can find to The Chief, besides the superheroes who’ve mentioned him on the record, I guess I can work with that,” I said to Aileen.

  “Work with what?” Norma enquired.

  “We have a physical address,” I told her.

  “Oh, Aileen figured out where The Chief lives?” Norma asked.

  “No,” I said. “But she identified a speakeasy operated by a supervillain named Tuttle Galloway, alias The Virus, who mentioned he was doing some work for The Chief.”

  “Ugh, I don’t think I like the sound of his name,” Norma remarked, but that didn’t stop her from settling down, opening the box, and immediately chowing down on a slice of pizza. “Want some? It’s got sausage, mozzarella, bell peppers, and olives.”

  It smelled greasy, fattening, and absolutely delicious. “Don’t mind if I do,” I said and grabbed a slice. Until then, I hadn’t realized just how unsatisfying the painstakingly artistic hors d’oeuvres on offer at the gala had been. We never did get around to dinner before the fucking supervillains rudely decided to attack us.

  “So, er, are we going to storm this speakeasy when it opens tomorrow?” Norma asked through a mouthful of pizza, but then she seemed to realize that she was talking to me with her mouth full, and her face turned red.

  “My, someone’s feeling pretty eager about this whole thing, huh?” I laughed.

  “I, uhhh,” Norma began, but I continued.

  “No, I don’t think that would do us any good. We’d probably just end up terrorizing whatever civilian staff The Virus has hired, and they might not even know that The Pig Puddle is anything other than a place to serve drinks. I doubt that The Virus himself is there every night tending bar. And if he were, especially if he were accompanied by fellow supervillains? We wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a fair fight. So we have to devise a way to make him come to us on our terms.”

  “You sound smug about it, like you already have a plan in mind,” Norma observed.

  I appreciated that she knew me well enough to pick up on that. “We’re going to monitor The Pig Puddle through the C.D.S. until The Virus makes an appearance. Then we’ll track him. Figure out his habits, his usual whereabouts, his associates, and what his power is. Then, we’ll figure out a way to kidnap and interrogate him.”

  “We’ll bring him back here to The Cellar?” Norma asked.

  “Hmm, no, this time I think we’ll pick a neutral location not associated with me,” I said. “I don’t want The Chief to put together who nabbed The Virus any sooner than he has to and come looking for us before we’re ready for him. We’ll purchase a building that’s somewhat remote and set it up and make it secure. Nice and… welcoming for our special guest.”

  “With lots of nasty booby traps like the propeller blade by the front door?” Norma asked eagerly.

  “I like the initiative,” I said. “That’s exactly where we’re headed with this. But first, we need to do more research on our target and figure out what kind of building would be suitable to host him. Aileen?”

  “I’ve locked in three camera angles that collectively cover all the exits and entrances of The Pig Puddle,” Aileen replied. “I will alert you as soon as I detect a person matching existing images of The Virus.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Norma, I’m looking forward to your creative suggestions for some sadistic traps later, but for now, could you review that contract for the biodegradable nanobots for the Asklepios Network? I’d like to get that finalized and get the shipment sent out.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Norma agreed.

  Once the women were busy at their respective tasks-- well, I guess Aileen wasn’t technically a woman, but I had made her so visually and aurally feminine that I couldn’t help thinking of the machine that she was as a woman-- I settled down to my own task.

  If we were going to be luring The Virus and whatever backup he brought along into a trap, he was definitely going to put up a fight. And although I’d been called many flattering things such as brilliantly inventive, ruthlessly pragmatic, both iconic and iconoclastic in various contexts, and of course a devilishly handsome habitual seducer of women… none of those natural gifts quite qualified as superpowers. Matching wits with a supervillain was one thing. Matching fists with a supervillain was quite another thing, and in the latter case, I was going to need the help of modern technology.

  I was going to need a supersuit.

  I had a prototype from a space suit design that I had submitted to NASA a few years back
for a competition they ran, but they hadn’t ended up choosing it in the end because it wasn’t compatible with the oxygen tank that they had already commissioned from another contractor even though my design was superior and, might I add, more aesthetic. I had no intention of going into outer space, but my particular suit design was a bit more combat-ready than the other frontrunners. After all, space missions sometimes encountered sentient alien life forms, and they weren’t always friendly. But that was another reason NASA had rejected my design. They said they were more focused on mining resources and terraforming other planetary surfaces right now than intergalactic combat missions.

  My suit design could withstand tremendous amounts of impact or pressure and extreme temperatures, so it would be able to withstand most attacks by supervillains such as the Purple Menace with his energy blasts. However, it wasn’t practical for me to wear yet, because it had also been designed to function in a zero gravity environment, and here on Earth it weighed approximately four hundred pounds.

  Maybe not an issue for someone with superstrength. Definitely an issue for me.

  Over the last few days, I had been working on adapting it to Earth conditions, but that was going to take more time, and I wanted to deal with The Chief as soon as possible. So, I planned to focus on completing a much smaller component for now. I had figured out a way to amplify the force generated by the gloves of the suit once the internal sensors detected a certain level of momentum, which is to say, once the gloves recognized that the wearer’s intent was to strike something.

  The issue now was just fine-tuning the sensors so that I could press elevator buttons without accidentally smashing them beyond repair and give people friendly pats on the back without cracking their spines. While Aileen honed her sights in on The Pig Puddle as well as continuing to scan the C.D.S. for potential bugs and devise patches, and Norma dealt with a major contract for my medical technology company, I got to work on those tweaks.

  The most difficult and time consuming part was the micronization process, which required me to build custom tools. But after a few hours of tweaking, the gloves ended up no bulkier and only slightly stiffer than typical leather work gloves, even with the motion-activated force amplification fibers that were woven into them. After I was satisfied with my handiwork, I put them on and headed over to my home gym for a test run.