by C. T. Phipps
The floors were full of frantically-working traders. The walls were lit up with monitors depicting the ever-changing price of corn, seed, cloth, microchips, robots, and alien consumer goods. Business had been booming since the Fall. It was the biggest tragedy in decades, an event that had caused the rest of America to wake up and take notice of Falconcrest City’s dire situation. Money had poured in to rebuild it from all corners. Some of which made it into the hands of its residents.
While I was rich enough to not hate the one percent with an instinctive fury, the corruption for Falconcrest City’s rebuilding projects pushed one of my few remaining class-warrior berserk buttons and today was going to be a day when me and my crew took vengeance. I could have just held up the place with a gang of mercenaries like some supervillains, but I wasn’t that sort of fellow. No, goddammit, if I was going to get back in the game then I was going to do it in style.
The side of the north wall exploded at exactly eleven o’clock, the prow of a sixteenth century pirate ship sailing through the concrete floors of the building and sending rubble forth in every direction. This monumental feat was accomplished through the force field generated around the vessel by my latest henchperson, Nicky Tesla, who was dressed in a mad scientist’s overcoat with a pair of thick goggles on her face over a car battery-powered harness she was wearing with a dozen tentacles sticking from her back.
I was wearing my usual Sith robe-like attire, but I’d put a Long John Silver’s paper pirate hat on my head as well as a fake stuffed parrot on my shoulder. It was held in place with Velcro. In my right hand was a plastic sword covered in very real blood.
“Ahoy there, Warner Street rapscallions, and prepare to be boarded! Tis Talk Like a Pirate Day and we’ve come here to seize your booty!”
“Seize your booty! Squawk!” my stuffed parrot added. My sister, Kerri, had a little microphone attached to it so I could get running data on whether the cops were responding or the local millionaire’s private armies.
“Yes! The money kind of booty!” Cindy added, swinging her own sword. She, of course, had adopted the “Sexy Pirate” variant of a costume.
The countless jacketed brokerage firms employees, security guards, and a number of people who just appeared to be there for other reasons all started panicking before running in different directions. Those who managed to reach the doors slammed their faces into an invisible force-field, the same kind that had allowed my dramatic entrance.
“Great job, Nicky,” I said, smiling.
“Jawohl, Mein Kapitän,” Nicky said.
I glared at her. “Never say that again. Really.”
“Ja,” Nicky said.
I cleared my throat and walked over to the edge of the ship. “Ladies and gentlemen, consider yourself occupied!” I paused. “That’s not too dated is it? Anyway, if you’re all willing to cooperate then this will not take but a moment.”
“There’s nothing to steal here, though!” one stockbroker in the back said.
I made a tsk-tsk-tsk noise. “Oh please, we both know that’s not true. Warner Street and its sister avenues are the place where the most theft in the United States goes on. A regular bank may be robbed, an ATM smashed up, or a purse snatched, but it is here where we encounter the big leagues of crime. Just last year, all of you helped prop up the Omega Corporation Rebuilding Initiative which along with fifty other corporations, received forty billion dollars to restore our great city. That’s more than twice what was allocated to the rebuilding Iraq after we invaded it, folks, and do you know how much ended up in the hands of the people?”
There was a guilt-ridden oppressive silence.
“Two words, first one jack. Second one shit,” I said, staring them down. “I’m not a Robin Hood figure. That superhero would consider the recovery of the funds to be the chief priority of my effort. No my friends, I am a supervillain, and I am quite content with exerting a limited amount of retribution on behalf of the good people of Falconcrest. People, I, alone, should be allowed to pilfer from. Cindy, would you be so kind and distribute to these good people their boxes?”
“Sure boss!” Cindy shouted, taking a selfie of herself with a terrified stockbroker. “Please note, I am not the reformed supervillain turned heroine Red Riding Hood but Pirate Girl, a wholly distinct and legally unknown supervillainess.”
“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s a really brilliant piece of criminal misdirection, there.”
“Says the neon-sign-over-his-house guy,” Cindy snapped back.
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“No.”
“You’re going to force us to sell our stock?” an elderly man said, looking like he was torn between fear for his life and his fortune. “Bankrupt us?”
“Oh no,” I said, looking over them. “I am much more devious than that. Diabloman?”
Diabloman was dressed in his spandex and luchador mask but had added a seventeenth-century greatcoat over his head and a patch over his left (masked) eye. As if accenting the gangland nature of pirates, he also was wearing a great deal of bling—gold necklaces, rings, and other bits of jewelry. Beside him, being held by a leash, was an elderly man who was the key to my current stratagem.
The man on a leash was white-haired and Caucasian, with a significant amount of work done and a twenty-thousand-dollar power suit. On his head was a Christmas tree-light-covered colander which Nicky Tesla insisted was a mind-control helmet. Given the man was drooling out of the right side of his mouth, I couldn’t dismiss her statement out of hand. The man was also holding a computer tablet in his hands.
“This, folks, is John Wormwood, acting CEO of Omega Industries in lieu of President John Omega who not only prevented superheroes from intervening in Falconcrest City during the Big Disaster but also managed to secure himself a second term by proceeding to blame Congress as well as the Society of Superheroes for not doing enough. Wow. Since I can’t get the president, yet, I’m going to settle for the person who personally made over a billion dollars from his cut of rebuilding contracts.”
“He is a bad but entirely legal sort of person,” Cindy said.
“Many of you have done business with him,” Diabloman said. “For which you should all be ashamed.”
“The police are not inbound yet,” Kerri said via the parrot. “There’s a hostage situation with the Chillingsworths nearby.”
Taking note of that, I put my arm around my hostage. “Mister Wormwood, here, is going to sell a staggering amount of his stock in a few minutes. Which, bluntly, will cause a staggering number of other investors to sell their stock due to the large number of rumors the company isn’t nearly as solvent as it appears to be. Which, given the way they make use of projected earnings and books more fictitious than The Lord of the Rings, may be true. You, my friends, are going to be purchasing stock in competing firms of my choice which will drive up their price substantially and make me a substantially wealthier man. Mostly, because I own a huge amount of stock in said firms.”
That was when one of the asshats in the back raised his hand. He was a middle-aged black man with white tufts of hair on the sides of his head.
“This isn’t kindergarten,” I said, staring at him. “What do you want?”
“Stock fraud?” he said, as if I should be offended. “Isn’t this a bit outside your bailiwick?”
“Okay, kudos for using the word bailiwick. What do you mean?”
“You’re a world-famous supervillain,” the man continued. “We saw you rescue the city last year during the Big Disaster but that was after you killed the Extreme and escaped the Society of Superheroes moon prison. Shouldn’t you, I dunno, be trying to take over the world or something?”
Cindy looked over at me. “He’s right, boss. This is kinda beneath you.”
“I am having a very stressful year!” I said, snapping back. “It’s stock fraud with a pirate ship on land and mind-control. This is very much not beneath me.”
“I disagr
ee,” Diabloman said, backing up Cindy. “A year ago, you’d have a musical number plus a half-dozen-dead bodies.”
“I disagree. Tis very good!” Nicky Tesla said. “Most avant-garde.”
“You can speak real English, Nicky. The fake German is fooling nobody.”
Nicky looked aside and muttered in perfect English. “Spoilsport.”
I lifted my fingers and shot a fireball into the air, causing everyone but my henchmen to take a step back. “Silence! We’re going to do this my way and I’m not going to hear any more—”
“Halt, evildoer! So says the Nightwalker!” a cheerful female voice shouted before a figure in a costume similar to mine swung from a window above, landing on the ground in front of me. She was a small Japanese-American woman with long dyed blonde hair sticking out from the side of her hood.
Amanda Douglas was the second Nightwalker, a billionaire hotel magnate and evil cultist’s daughter who had taken up the mantle after the original’s death. She was one of the city’s two superheroes and pretty good at her job despite her relative inexperience. We’d helped each other end the Big Disaster and even hung out socially but didn’t let that affect our working relationship.
“Your foul felonies have reached their finality!” Amanda shouted, producing an extendable staff which then produced an electrical charge on both end.
“Merciful Moses,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “What is this, the sixties?”
“Well, she was trained by my old partner,” Cloak muttered. “I’m going to assume the hostage situation is resolved.”
“Well, good for them,” I said, pointing at her. “I’m not in the mood for any interruptions. Get her.”
“You’re not in the mood for many things lately,” Cloak said.
Diabloman leapt off the side of the pirate ship and charged at her, my super-strong henchman immediately getting sent flying backwards by one of Amanda’s uppercuts. A half-dozen black-sweater-wearing pirate crew charged out from the hole next, all of them with a stylized M on their attire.
Amanda displayed stunning gymnastics as she leapt over henchmen, spin-kicked others, zapped a few more, and hurled others into each other. I, meanwhile, levitated downward with Wormwood in my arms and pulled out a computer tablet to begin programming my plan. I couldn’t bring myself to throw in some witty commentary.
God, they were right. I was phoning it in.
“Perhaps supervillainy isn’t for you since Mandy—”
“Don’t mention her name,” I growled.
Cindy managed to backstab Amanda with an industrial-strength taser as Amanda knocked away the last of my goons. Amanda yowled, fell to her knees, and then grabbed Cindy in a judo throw, hurling her in the air. I levitated upwards, grabbed Cindy, and then hovered back down.
“Thanks for the save,” Cindy said.
“You’re welcome,” I said, turning back to Amanda. I handed my tablet over to Cindy who finished programming it.
Diabloman was getting up for the next round but I shook my head to him.
This was my time to show off.
Amanda pointed at me. “The police will arrive any minute to finish off your scheme. Damn, I should have used finish in that earlier line. Anyway, you won’t be able to—wait, is that John Wormood? The guy who got a bunch of people killed because the money for moving people to hospitals from refugee camps disappeared?”
I paused. “...Yes?”
Amanda narrowed her eyes, paused, then started to fake choking. “Oh, no, you...bastard! You’re using your magic to drain away my supernatural power. I...can’t move. I can’t stop...whatever you’re going to do to him.”
I crossed my arms. “Really? Have you no pride?”
Amanda banged on the ground with her fist. “Oh woe, my inability to save this horrible person from his fate—whatever it may be.”
“Oh for the love of King David,” I muttered then looked at Wormwood. Cindy handed him the remote. “John, I command you to sell all of your stock.”
The mind-controlled executive nodded and short-sold everything.
I addressed the crowd of stockbrokers. “Now, it’s technically illegal for you to act on this information but—”
All of them were already taking advantage of the deal to make more money.
I sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you’ve lived here more than a year?” Cindy said.
“Point taken.”
I checked my remote and proceeded to transfer the resulting funds into my account, having made a quarter of a billion dollars and tripling my fortune. Sighing, I paid my henchmen their section and sent the vast majority of my wealth to various charities around the city before wiping out the records with a keystroke.
“So much for not being Robin Hood,” Cloak said.
“I have enough money to buy anything I want,” I said, frowning. “Anything I can’t afford, I steal. I’m just keeping myself motivated by giving the excess to those who could use a helping hand.”
“Sure.”
Looking out the window of the stock exchange, I saw a couple of police cars with flashing lights. The department was still being rebuilt after having had a substantial amount of its ranks revealed to be insane death cultists.
Staring at them in disgust, I said, “Gather up my half-conscious goons and tie Amanda up. We’re bringing her with us.”
“You’re taking her prisoner?” Diabloman said, surprised.
“Yep,” I said, gesturing to a pair of magical chains I’d brought along for just this sort of occasion. “We’ll let her out after a suitable period of time where, clearly, she’d been held hostage and was unable to stop this.”
“Thanks….” Amanda said through faked strained breaths.
“Ooo, are we taking her back to the lair for a kinky sex game?” Cindy said, a broad grin on her face.
“That happened once,” I said, staring at her. If by once when if you counted when I was really depressed and Cindy and I had slept together for a month. I still felt guilty about it but it was about the only thing that kept me alive when I thought I’d never see Mandy again. “We’re not making that a regular part of our repertoire.”
“It’s good to see you again, Gary,” Amanda said, right before Cindy lassoed her with the chains, the magic causing the bonds to move around her and squeeze. “The city hasn’t been the same without the Supervillain without MercyTM.”
“That’s the problem.”
I managed to get away scot-free, especially once attempts to locate the money had proven difficult because the majority of it wasn’t supposed to be in Omega Corp’s hands to begin with, but it left me feeling no better about myself.
Only one thing could do that. The one thing reality couldn’t permit me. With that, I started to think back on the present.
And the fact President Omega was trying to kill me.
Chapter Ten
The Bad Guy for the Book is POTUS
“The president has taken a hit out on me?” I said, incredulous. “For robbing him?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Gabrielle said, looking to one side. “President Omega is the most corrupt and bigoted United States president since William Henry Harrison. He hates supers, aliens, and mystery men. He also bought the election with his company’s millions. You probably did more damage to his plans by destroying his company than we’ve done in eight years of fighting him through the legal process.”
“Still, I’m more surprised I’m not dead than anything else.”
Gabrielle paused. “There’s rumors that he’s sent several hit squads and assassins against you already. People who end up with their throats torn out and bodies drained of blood. Know anything about that?”
I looked away. “Err, maybe.”
“Also, a bunch of ghosts dragged a wizard who tried to curse your family to hell.”
Kerri started whistling “Whistle While You Work” as she continued to try and clean up the mess.
“Have you
been attacked randomly by supervillains and anti-heroes trying to kill you this past year?” Gabrielle asked.
I blinked. “Isn’t that normal?”
Gabrielle felt her face. “No, Gary. No it’s not.”
“Well, don’t I have egg on my face.”
“There’s also rumors that President Omega has plans for something big in his final year of office. Something that he can try to use to change the balance of superhuman-baseline relationships forever.”
I snorted at her description of the president’s actions. “Like leaving everyone to die in Falconcrest City wasn’t enough.”
People often talked about the destructive nature of superhuman fights and the government’s incompetence during a crisis, but usually, they were both pretty on the ball when it came to rebuilding things. The ideal superhero-government relationship had the former fighting the bad guy, the latter evacuating civilians, and the two of them cooperating to make sure everything was cleaned up thereafter.
The biggest good superheroes did wasn’t actually punching out terrorists and bank-robbers, but using their powers for rescue work during disasters as well as lending themselves to relieve global crises. Things like oil spills, earthquakes, typhoons, and worse had been prevented with millions saved thanks to the efforts of heroes.
Recently, though, superheroes had started including more and more people uninterested in anything but punishment while the government had begun to act like they didn’t need superheroes at all. President Omega was very good at making the latter seem like a flaw of the heroes rather than the reverse, especially when he preferred his heroes violent and jingoistic.
Could you tell I’d voted for the other guy?
Gabrielle nodded. “The legislation Omega drafted in response to the Fall has drastically increased his powers. Powers he intends to use to finally push through the changes he’s long desired. Truth be told, this has been coming a long time. People are sick of supervillains, superheroes, useless police, technology they don’t understand, alien invasion, colorful terrorist attacks they can’t defend against, and constantly being in the shadows of gods.”