by M. K. Gibson
He’s a role model for villainy.
And you people think he’s a good guy. N00bs.
Once I was on my roof, the heavy winds blew my suit coat open. I turned the corner of the private entrance and made my way toward my helicopter.
Which was missing?
Hmm.
“Did you think we didn’t know about the passage?” The Watchman called out over the sounds of the gusting wind.
I turned my head, looking for the voice. I had to squint from the roof’s high-intensity floodlights as the winds whipped by. In a dark corner of the helipad, the Watchman knelt, smiling at me. I could just make out his perfect white teeth through the darkness.
“Where’s the rest of your hit squad?” I called out.
“Here,” Ankh’s enhanced voice echoed.
A nimbus of golden energy glowed from beneath me. Ankh, Babylon, and the Warden floated upward, phasing through the helipad. From the distance, I heard a howl and the crunching of glass as Timber clawed her way up the side of the building. The werewolf mantled the safety rails of the helipad and dropped down with labored, angry breaths.
“So what was that little spell you cast back in your office?” Babylon asked. “Have to admit, it was pretty tricky.”
I nodded my thanks. Up to this point in the gritty reboot, I had not used my power much outside of the embassy. And when I did, it was in a very limited fashion. After all, an ace up your sleeve is useless if people know it’s there.
“As you pointed out, I have a lot of villains in my employ. My office has all kinds of failsafes built in,” I said, avoiding a direct lie. I was sure that Ankh’s mystical arts or Babylon’s semi-divine nature would know if I told a falsehood.
Really kills the fun, I must add. But being Shadow Master is all about thinking on your feet. Or so I’m told.
“Who cares,” Warden said, drawing his weapons and cocking them. “The world already knows I’m a killer. The rest of you, get out of here. I’ll take the fall.”
“No,” Watchman said. “We started this together; we’ll finish it together.”
“Well said, Mr. Flynn,” I agreed.
The Watchman hesitated a moment. The rest of the team looked at him.
“Flynn? Malcolm Flynn?” Ankh asked.
“Oh. They didn’t know?” I asked with a smile. “Oops.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Watchman said. “This ends now.”
“You’re right,” I said, backing up to the safety railing, casting a quick glance over my shoulder, and looking down the length of the skyscraper to the street below. “I’d like to say it’s been fun. But you give me no other choice.”
“Coward’s way out,” Timber growled as I climbed up the railing.
“No. I choose my time. Not you,” I said. With a two-finger salute, I gave the heroes a quick wink and fell backwards off the edge of the building with my arms wide and a smile on my face.
Chapter Thirty
Where I Am Rescued, Escape, and Offer Boston Back to the British
When it comes to sci-fi and fantasy, there are several immutable truths. As we established in my first book, the first rule a villain should know is that the hero always wins. Sad, I know, but it’s the truth. But what some people fail to see is the loophole in that rule.
Yes, the hero always wins. It doesn’t say “the good guy.” And in books like mine, the villain can be the protagonist, or the hero if you will, provided they are shown in the correct context.
In the comic universe, the rules are sketchy at best. Who is, and isn’t, a hero or villain can flip-flop as quickly as a politician in election season. Since everyone is potentially a villain and a hero, depending on the day, that first rule is flexible here. Anyone can be the lead protagonist. You narrate your own story, you’re the protagonist.
Which I am. It’s a cheap exploit I gladly embrace. You should try it sometime.
Well, I mean that in the polite, colloquial way. Like when you say “How are you?” or “You look great,” and you don’t really mean it. I honestly don’t expect any of you to have the skill, power, foresight, or frankly, the moxie to do what I do.
I doubt any of you have the stones to jump off a high-rise building to prove a point or test a theory.
********
I fell backwards, feeling the wind rush past me. The sensation of weightlessness was liberating. By doing this, I was placing a lot of trust in the rules of this world. But for what was planned, it had to be done.
Plus, there was one particular rule, or trope if you will, your friendly neighborhood Shadow Master has always wanted to exploit. On top of a roof, as I was surrounded by potential assassins, the chance finally presented itself. Much like when I leaped into the sea in the last book knowing that the protagonist never drowns at sea, instead washing up on shore, jumping off a skyscraper when you’re the lead has advantages.
That being said, if something went wrong, then please chisel into my tombstone: “The Shadow Master Died On His Own Terms.”
As I fell, a sense of dread began to grow like an acidic lead ball in my stomach. I was beginning to rethink that whole tombstone thing . . . possibly having it changed to “That Shadow Master Died an Idiot.”
About a second and half past where panic hits your system, my plummeting fall was suddenly stopped by a pair of the strongest arms on the planet.
“Oof,” I grunted as I was wrapped up and pulled in close and began flying skyward.
“My hero,” I mockingly swooned upwards at the beautiful alien woman who flew through the air. She had emerald green skin emblazoned with bright silver alien tribal markings.
“Don’t push it,” she muttered, holding me close to her muscular body. Seeing as I was the rescued damsel, I opted to nuzzle closer to my rescuer’s . . . assets. Her form-fitting bodysuit was a sandy tan, while the suit’s accents and cape were a deep brown, matching her flowing hair.
Apex was the symbol of hope to the city and to the planet. She was an alien who landed on the planet as a child. Orphaned and alone, she was the last of her kind.
Before coming to earth, her race were the intergalactic gardeners of the universe, preserving and spreading life. Their deep space city-ship was crippled by hostile forces. Before their destruction, her people jettisoned the last child of the ancient race through a wormhole.
The planet’s unique magnetic field activated a latent alien genetic program, making the fastest, strongest, and most powerful being on the planet. Hence, Apex.
Apex landed on earth in Washington, DC, where she was found and subsequently raised by politicians in a power struggle. The government tried to turn her into a weapon for political gain. She, in turn, rejected all partisan politics, deciding instead to venture out on her own in a never-ending struggle for justice and the preservation of life.
And no, that is not a rip-off of the famous last son of Krypton. Apex, and Mr. Spitcurl McBoyscout, are both a retelling of the Moses-in-the-basket biblical tale.
Duh.
FYI, the Bible is a wonderful source of public-domain stories, ripe for copycat storytelling. Being thousands of years old, those parables contained within are not owned by anyone and therefore not litigious. So have at it, you legion of hacks.
From the way Apex was gripping me, it was clear she was unhappy about being my rescuer. But something told me she was more upset with her fellow superheroes. We flew up past the roof of my building and hovered ten feet or so above my would-be assassins.
“Watchman,” Apex said, looking down at her longtime friend.
“Apex.”
“Cease this. Now,” Apex decreed.
“You don’t know what he did. And you know I can’t. This has to end.”
“I’m right here, you know,” I offered while I was being held like a child in Apex’s arms.
“Shut up,” Apex and The Watchman said in unison.
“Apex, you know better,” Babylon said. “Besides all the media crap he’s responsible for, he’s behind the i
ncident at Black Rock.”
“Almost three hundred people killed,” Ankh added. “And heroes were blamed for it.”
“To be fair, The Animator was the one who brought that giant effigy to life. How is it my fault?” I asked.
“Your operatives ensured he was high on psychedelics!” Warden said. “Ankh’s magical vision saw it all.”
“It’s Burning Man,” I said, trying and failing to hide a smile. “There are a lot of drugs there, after all,” I chuckled.
I mean, it was brilliant. Once I knew that certain heroes made the annual pilgrimage to the desert art festival, all it took was making sure certain drugs were consumed by certain people who have the power to bring inanimate objects to life.
And believe me, a several-stories-tall man made of flaming wooden logs coming to life and squishing hippies is a thing of beauty. Man, you should have seen it. In fact, you probably can. I made sure it was uploaded to the net. No matter how many times the FCC pulled the video down, some net nerd made sure it was available within moments.
The Animator was held responsible for the deaths. And I made sure the world knew it.
For the sake of full disclosure, I was originally planning on taking out all of Massachusetts. Well, perhaps not the whole state, mind you, just Boston and its boroughs. Have you met anyone from there? Gods above and below, what a pack of loudmouth, fake accented MassHoles.
Look, I’m sure there are decent, hard-working, and quiet people from Boston. But sadly, too many of your drunken, lager-guzzling cousins ruined it for the rest of you. It’s why everyone not from New England roots against the Patriots and the Red Sox. Not because of your winning, but because of the loud, obnoxious, English-language-butchering identity you cling to.
Every time you say “Wicked awesome, bah, cah, bubblah, packy,” Paul Revere regrets making that midnight ride. If Thomas Paine, Sam Adams, Ben Franklin, and James Madison ever knew what came of their descendants, they would gladly give the United States of America back to England.
But because of the Boston cream donuts I mentioned back in chapter 26, I spared your city. I don’t know if the donut came from there, and to be honest, I’m too lazy to Google it. But know, my Northeastern public, you are one more Marky Mark movie away from annihilation.
I beg you to cross me.
Back to the point, I instead chose Burning Man as my public catastrophe. It’s a cheap shot, for sure, wiping out a bunch of self-indulgent “artists.” But I needed a public event that wouldn’t cause too much collateral damage, ensured TV coverage, and to be frank, targeted a group of people the rest of the world wouldn’t miss.
Coachella, you’re next.
“I know what he did,” Apex said. “And I know what you did. He will be handed to the authorities. Killing him will not bring those people back.”
“Killing him will prevent further deaths,” Watchman countered.
“You know I do not believe in that philosophy.”
“And you know that I do.”
And there it was.
The culmination of my plan to cause a war.
Bring two forces together who refuse to yield based on moral principles, and the outcome is always the same.
War.
“I am taking him to The Reef. Do not interfere,” Apex announced. “I have allies.”
“And so do we,” Timber growled. “Watchman predicted something like this might happen. You, and he, will never make it.”
“When this is over, you all will be dealt with,” Apex said, ignoring the werewolf. “You have crossed a line heroes should not cross. You have taken the law into your own hands. You are not the judge, jury, and executioners.”
“We all take the law into our hands daily,” Babylon said, lighting a cigarette. “So do you.”
Apex said nothing, no longer seeing a point in the argument. Instead, she gripped me tighter, placing a hand on the back of my neck, and said, “Hang on.”
We exploded in a burst of speed, flying away from Dynasty City. Apex’s flight hugged the coastline. Somewhere out there, below the waves, The Reef maximum-security prison awaited me.
But we both knew we wouldn’t make it.
Once we were a couple of miles out of the city proper, a bolt of magical lighting streaked across the sky, slamming into us. The alien hero took the brunt of the blast. The impact knocked us onto the sandy beach below. Apex shielded me with her body as we tumbled hard across the ground.
Once we came to a full stop, I looked up and saw Chernobog, the Slavic black god, floating in the sky. His uniform resembled something of an evil Santa complete with a hammer and a sickle.
“I hope you weren’t bullshitting back there about having allies,” I groaned. “Something tells me you’re going to need the backup.”
Superhero Fun Fact #9
During the events of DC’s Identity Crisis, it was revealed that Hawkman, Zatanna and Atom voted to “mindwipe” Dr. Light after he committed rape. Green Lantern, Green Arrow, and Black Canary voted against. The tie was broken by the Barry Allen Flash for the mindwipe. The result gave Light a partial lobotomy and he became a Teen Titans villain. Oh, they mindwiped doing it from Batman’s memory as well. Some heroes, huh?
Chapter Thirty-One
Where the War is about to Begin, The Teams Arrive, and I Play More Killer 70’s Music
“You know how this goes down,” Chernobog said, his Slavic voice rumbling across the sky.
“Your other side would not agree,” Apex said, standing up. As she did, she pushed me behind her, shielding me with her body.
“Da,” Chernobog agreed. “But is not day time. Beobog slumbers.”
Chernobog and his other half Beobog were actually Dimitri and Slauka Vukchovich, twin brother and sister refugees from the former Yugoslavia. When they came here, the spirit of the eastern European deities came with them. When they chose, the twins would merge into the manifestation of the gods—Chernobog at night, and Beobog, the white god, during the day. Can you guess which one was the nice one and which one was the asshole?
“You will not kill him,” Apex said.
“Sad, I know, but must be done,” Chernobog said, while miniature storms of thunder and darkness formed around his fists. “I always wonder if I able to beat you. Curious, if alien better than god.”
“I give you this chance, Dimitri. Walk away.”
The black and gray cloud that formed the god’s beard bristled as he shook his head. “Cannot. Watchman right. That one is blight. In order for world to continue, people like him must be eliminated.”
Chernobog pulled back his muscular arm and swiped his sickle. A bolt of black lightning arced from the weapon, coming right at me. Apex stood in front of the blast. Purple electricity danced across her as her knees buckled. Yet the alien symbol for perseverance did not drop.
“Stay here,” Apex grunted.
“Where the shit do you expect me to go?”
“Sir,” Sophia’s voice came into my ear. “Sir, run now!”
“Shh,” I said, silencing her. “You’ll miss the best part. Just watch.”
Apex threw herself into the sky, her fist drawn back. The dark god was braced as Apex connected, hitting the deity with enough force to level a mountain, splitting the night air with the exploding sound of thunder. The two titanic powerhouses traded blow after blow, each striking each the other with reckless abandon.
“There’s no grace to their fighting styles,” Sophia noted.
“There rarely is with the superhumanly empowered,” I agreed. “Why should they ever learn how to properly fight when they can defeat 99% of the world’s population without even trying?”
“I guess that makes sense,” Sophia said. “Still stupid though.”
Chernobog’s battled back, inflicting massive damage. His divine essence could hurt the alien. But the genetically modified spacewoman was designed, at the cellular level, to adapt and become stronger than anything she fought. Each blow Chernobog landed on Apex was, in essence
, making her stronger.
Perfect.
I dusted the sand off my suit and found a nice large rock to sit on so I could get a good view. Lighting a cigarette, I watched the battle and I waited.
“What are you waiting for, sir?” Sophia asked
“Why, the inevitable, of course. You see, when I made sure the video of The Watchman and his team coming to kill me was uploaded, I was setting the stage. Apex came to my rescue, as the tropes demanded, gritty reboot or not. Chernobog wasn’t here to stop Apex,” I said.
I heard Sophia chuckle. “He was there to stall her.”
“Exactly.”
The night sky flashed a bright gold as a portal in space-time opened. Ankh floated through the opening with Watchman, Warden, Babylon, and Timber. Apex saw this, grabbed Chernobog by his godly balls, pivoted in the sky, and threw him down hard at the incoming heroes.
The deity slammed into the ground with a shock wave of power. Apex followed up immediately, flying so fast she broke the sound barrier in a split second, hitting Chernobog once again and making sure he stayed down.
Warden ejected the magazines of his automatic pistols and slammed in fresh rounds. Cocking the weapons, he opened up a barrage of gunfire. Apex actually looked at The Warden with a disappointed face.
But only for a second.
The rounds bounced off her at first, but in moments, they began to slowly pierce her alien flesh.
“How is that working?” Sophia asked.
“I’m not sure. It is curious, though.”
I pulled up the heroes and villains app on my phone and looked over what Warden had done. “Oh, that is interesting. Apparently his bullets are actually part of a localized computer-controlled network. The rounds are smart metal slugs, and each hit or miss transmits metadata to the next incoming round, causing the bullet to alter its bioelectric wavelength slightly. The bullets probe a target’s defenses until they find the perfect way to punch a hole through the shields. Nice. Sophia?”