Supervillain, Us

by Gentry Race

  Something caught my eye. On her wrist was a small insignia. A hex. She was still human, but a villainess had promised to turn her if she made good on some evil deeds.

  I gripped her throat and mowed over her life-clinging eyes as she gasped for air.

  “I want you tell all your friends about me,” I said, my eyes still burning with heated hate.

  “Who…” The panic-stricken woman tried to speak, her voice convulsing while I strangled her. “Who… are you?”

  “Tell them Mantium is coming for them,” I finally said.

  The woman ran off, got into a small car, started the engine with haste and hit the gas. I watched as a sputter of dust and rock was thrown on my victims around me.

  Time for cleanup.

  After dragging the unconscious men around the side of the bar, leaving them next to the cliff to cover my tracks of any altercation, I felt my inner pain start to idle. This made me feel better, taking out my aggression. I had to learn how to handle it.

  But the question of the hour wasn’t my integrity. These unruly men deserved their justice. I knew I was losing it, in the face of greater evil. But one question beat me over the head like a drum.

  Where in the fuck is my team?

  2

  The Twisted Sister

  After a quick jaunt to our ride, a rental van hidden from view, I dressed in a three-piece suit that Jess had laid out for me. This was her “nerdy reporter” costume, complete with a pair of glasses. The odds of anyone recognizing me were slim.

  It worked for that Superman guy.

  Just before the steps of the brothel, I kicked dust over any gravel still covered in blood. The dusty sheath worked well to coat the crime scene. Up the steps was a set of large doors and a button to set off a buzzer. I pushed it in, and the annoying sound set off a peephole opening up.

  I saw an indigo-colored eye, traced in thick eyeliner and furrowed below a perfectly tweezed eyebrow, indicating it belonged to a female. She darted her eyes up and down my frame, probably enamored with my build.

  “Got your wristband?” she asked, her voice sounding like one of those old-school phone sex operators.

  Abiding any panic, I remembered that a john was only allowed to come in if they had a wristband from the cabbie that had dropped them off. This wristband had the cabbie’s phone number and license plate, ensuring they wouldn’t leave the johns behind — reinforced by Storey County.

  I slipped my hand into my suit pocket, feeling for the look-alike wristband Jess had placed there earlier. With flick of the wrist, I showed her my credentials.

  “Good,” the woman said in her sultry voice.

  I waited five minutes until the door finally opened to a small bar divided into coves. To my right, a few patrons were nestled into one with a service girl, whispering sweet nothings into her ear while she sipped on the drink a half pissed drunken john had just bought her.

  To my left was an old jukebox playing 2 Live Crew’s ‘Hoochie Mama’. A sooted stripper pole was erected on a small stage a few inches off the ground, in front of a few empty, ripped chairs that looked like they came from a community center yard sale.

  What a petty excuse for a stripper stage.

  Ahead, the main bar was adorned with a canopy awning made of fake straw and held up by columns of bamboo. The lady bartender gave me a wink as she prepared the next toxic, sugary concoction.

  I spotted an Asian woman that looked to be at least in her fifties, just past a row of small cocktail tables to the left. She held her age with grace. I pretended not to notice her stalk me with her eyes while walking to the bar.

  Behind the bar, a younger woman stood, relaxed, leaning against a broken slushy cocktail machine. She looked me over and then back the older again woman, sizing my large frame.

  “You here for the convention?” she asked me, shaking up some mixers below the bar.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I said, looking around. “Henry Swanson’s my name, and excitement’s my game.”

  The girl smiled, keen to the movie I was quoting. “Cash or charge?”

  “Oh, cash I suppose. You can’t really write it off,” I said, leaning on the bar as I finished the line from the cult classic.

  The woman behind the bar nodded to her Asian counterpart while exiting through a set of double doors that could have easily been mistaken for plain kitchen doors from a diner, with tackily pasted on crushed red velvet.

  A moment later, the crushed velvet doors shot open, and out stepped a small redhead with a thin waist, held within a grey, pencil-waisted dress and blazer to match. She looked like a flight attendant from the seventies gone rogue.

  “Mr. Swanson, my name is Destiny,” she said, holding the double doors from swinging back on her and then letting them close.

  Of course her name is Destiny.

  For a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of animals — the heads of wild beasts, but was distracted when she switched her hips, walking closer to me, closing the doors.

  “Shall I give you the tour?” she said and wiggled her hips, excited for the fun to come.

  “I would be obliged,” I said, nodding my head while keeping my thick glasses from sliding off the bridge of my nose.

  She twisted a smile and nodded to the bartender and Asian woman while pushing the double doors open. Inside, the room opened up to a taxonomist’s dream. Stuffed heads of almost every animal under the sun were properly presented on wall mounts. Their lifeless, frozen eyes shone in the purple contour lights above them.

  Below them, a horizontal mirror stretched the length of the room, reflecting the centerpiece: a twenty-foot-long couch. Its cushions were made of the same crushed red velvet as the door, and was accented with thick tufts of animal hair. The whole thing looked like it belonged on a safari hunt.

  “This is our showroom,” Destiny said, waving her arm out like she was presenting a prize. “Here, all of our vixens line up, and you simply pick which one you would like.”

  I had never seen a brothel before. The idea of just picking out someone to screw was a bit crass. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the challenge of the relationship? The past six months had shown me what having multiple relationships was like, and it wasn’t always sunshine and waterfalls.

  “Are there rooms to have negotiations done?” I quickly asked, trying to keep the show moving. I needed to find Jess and Hera before they were taken into some godforsaken coven of villains.

  “Why, yes,” Destiny said. “This way.”

  Through another set of doors, a long hallway with a series of multiple doors stemmed, doglegging to the right. As we passed the first door, Destiny kindly explained that they had their own nurse on staff that regularly tended to the girls.

  I was relieved to hear that the women received such proper care for free, for despite precautionary tactics, the trade they were in came with risks.

  Destiny stopped at a small station that contained a finger-pricking device.

  She pulled my hand to it and pricked me so gently I barely felt it.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Testing to make sure you are clean, Mr. Swanson,” she said. “Here at the Twisted Sister, we take all proper medical measures to uphold the highest practice of pleasure.”

  A small light on the machine burned green, and there was a subtle ringing sound. She smiled at the result and then we proceeded to walk past another series of doors, these ones with double mirrored glass. I was curious what they were used for.

  “And the mirrors on the doors?” I asked.

  “These are the ‘Bargaining Rooms’,” she said nonchalantly. “All prices for acts are discussed and recorded before any pleasure takes place.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Come,” Destiny said, walking faster down the hall. “I will show you the rooms.”

  The way she phrased ‘rooms’ had me curious to say the least. I was just hoping this could lead to some sign — some clue of where my girls had gone. I decided to p
ry a bit, popping the question that had been dancing in my head ever since I stepped into this place.

  “And have you girls with green eyes,” I asked, still referencing the cult classic to keep the mood light.

  She turned her head in alarm, as if she was not sure what I meant, but then remembered the movie I had quoted when I first came.

  “Chinese girls do not come with green eyes,” she said, softening her jaw.

  I wasn’t sure if she was on to me. All I could tell was that she was having fun — especially when we entered into the next room.

  She swung open a padded door. Inside, the room smelled of sulfur. A hot tub was nestled between a twin-sized bed and what looked like sex swing, which hung from the ceiling. I inspected the leather closer under the bright neon lights reflecting off the wall and could see that it had been used more than once.

  “Here we have the toy room,” she said, just behind me now.

  I could feel her warm hands crawl along my sides, moving over my Apollo lines and down to my groin. I turned my large frame toward hers. She looked like I could snap her like a toothpick.

  “No bargaining room before pleasure?” I asked.

  She leaned into my ear and whispered softly, her breath smelling like sweet strawberries, “This is my bargain, you mewling quim.”

  She shoved me into the swing and began strapping up my legs and arms. I thought it was cute how angry and tough she was trying to be.

  “ ‘Quim’?” I asked, appalled by the insult. “I’m no wanker, milady.”

  She finished the rest of the braces. I tried not to chuckle, knowing I could break out of them at any moment. But I would play her game — play her like a violin to find out where Jess and Hera had been taken.

  She jumped into my lap, smiling and laughing like I was some prize to be had. She dug her nails into my stomach, giving me a taste of what she was capable of.

  But she’s never had anything like me.

  She slapped me across the face, but grew angry when she saw that it didn’t faze me one bit. She then held her hand out in front of me, and I watched thin, metal nails grow from her fingertips.

  She’s a goddamn sex tiger. “Uh oh,” I quipped. “Kitty’s got claws.”

  She was more furious now, stabbing them into my side. I held back my metal skin, feeling the pain, but I didn’t budge. It was like she was tickling me.

  “So, Mr. Swanson,” she said, gently rocking the swing. “Seems like you have a rare plasmid in your blood.”

  “Plasmid?” I asked, playing stupid.

  “Yes, one that is very valuable to us,” she said.

  “Us? What are you talking about?” I asked, waiting for her to reveal herself, just like a true villainess would.

  Villains and villainesses like to hear themselves talk.

  Her expression changed from sexy to evil. I watched her face form into something more grotesque than I had ever seen. Her cheeks were sunken in now. Her flesh changed by something. I could see her jaw and inner teeth through the rotting skin, showing her true form. It was like she was hemorrhaging on top of me.

  I still didn’t panic. This villainess was in over her head. It would only be a matter of moments until I decided to break these baby straps and knock the wits about her. She boiled in anger, frustrated by my lack of pain.

  And then I saw a contour of light drawn out. The wall had a slight separation from the rest of the molding. On the floor, I saw the slight rubbing from the lower part showing the path of the opening arc.

  I bet they took Jess and Hera in there.

  “It’s a good-news-bad-news scenario, Mr. Swanson,” Destiny said, trying to enunciate her words though her sharp mouth parts and the salacious saliva that fell over my chest.

  The wall began to break its mold and open. A horde of villainous women came out, each one looking more evil and viler than the next.

  “Is this the lineup for tonight?” I quipped. “Looks like it’s definitely bad news for me.”

  “But good news for us,” a villainess said from afar, her fists pulsating a bright green energy that matched her one-piece unitard.

  I looked closer. One villainess, wearing a sexy, lace sequin bodysuit, was dragging Jess and Hera by their hair. She was as strong as she was blonde. Each diamond piece on her suit began to grow into crystal spires, making her look like a glass porcupine on steroids.

  I felt the anger swell within the pit of my stomach once more. It was time to show these women who they were fucking with. My skin tightened. The straps around my arms snapped off, unable to withstand the metal forming over them. Destiny looked down at me just in time to catch the steam from my fiery red eyes wafting in the stale air.

  My promise to Hera was about to be shot to shit.

  “Y-you are…” she stuttered.

  “I’m Mantium, bitch!” I yelled.

  I blasted hot, fiery plasma into her face. Her crackling epidermis bubbled up while she threw her hands up trying to block the bursting energy. Both her hands and her head disintegrated before me. I knocked her headless corpse off me and then shot to my feet. A villainess tried to lunge at me. She was as feral as a cat. Her villainess superpower now warped even more by her hate. I caught her by the neck, and she clawed at my arms. I squeezed, popping her head clean off.

  “Don’t kill them, Michael,” Hera yelled at me. “We need them.”

  Hearing my first name had no effect on me anymore.

  Hera pulled a clean sweep to diamond lady’s calf, but couldn’t break her hold. She and Jess were both pulled back with her fall. Jess punched between the spires only to hit rock-hard skin, and fell back due to the pain.

  “They took Gemini,” she yelled out.

  I pushed the headless cadaver off me and rose to my feet. Another crimson haired villainess came at me. She wore heavy red eyeshadow that stretched from her eyes to her ears, and was clad in black leather and six-inch stiletto heels. She cartwheeled toward me and threw herself in the air, a stiletto aimed right at my chest.

  She impacted me square in my “M” logo. I watched the heel snap off against my hard chest, and saw the villainess fall to the floor. I grabbed her hair as she kicked and screamed. Without hesitation, I threw her into the diamond girl, who was picking herself up while she pulled Jess and Hera along.

  BAM!

  The crimson girl hit the chandelier of a woman, impaling herself on her spires. The diamond girl let go of Jess and Hera, dropping to her knees and retracting her quills. As the crimson girl bled out from her numerous punctures, I watched muddied tears from her mascara run down the face of the diamond girl. She shot a deadly look my way.

  “You killed her!” she screamed, dropping her slumping friend.

  Jess looked at me in horror while Hera shot me a look of disappointment.

  Another one, I thought.

  I walked past both of them, ignoring their reactions, tired of the fighting…tired of the hunting.

  I grabbed Diamond girl by her neck. As I picked her up, I felt the burning red fire waft from my eyes.

  “Where is Gemini?” I asked, squeezing tighter.

  She coughed and gurgled what I thought was an answer, but I was disappointed in the result. I slightly released my grip.

  “Where is she?” I yelled.

  “He…” she coughed out. “He took her.”

  “Who took her?” I yelled. The notion of her in the hands of another man gripped my heart in a vice. “How did they get out of here so fast?”

  “Some agent. He’s a jumper,” she eked out.

  A goddamn jumper, I thought.

  We’d only heard rumors of jumpers and caught whiffs of the sulfur they leave behind in their wake when they cross over into the SubSpace. I should have caught on to the presence of one when I smelled the brimstone stink.

  “His name’s Lazarus… He’s been coming here for months. Paying us good for the girls we infect.”

  I dropped her, watching her caress her neck to try and ease the pain I’d infl
icted. She was looking at Jess and Hera, trying to conjure some kind of sympathy from them, but I didn’t care.

  I was worried about Gemini. She knew our whole operation, and technically, she was still a villainess. If someone got to her and convinced her to talk, it could have a massive blowback, ending the hunt.

  I felt Hera’s eyes weigh heavily on me. She wasn’t happy about my little party raid. I couldn’t care less. We needed to get Gemini back before they broke her.

  “Where did he take her?” I finally asked.

  The diamond girl batted her haggard and exhausted eyes.

  “Edwards Air Force Base.”

  3

  Edwards Air Force Base

  We drove for about seven hours south, nestled in the rental van that sat eight. The winding gravel road twisted along a small river that was leading to a lake we could only find on road signs. This place had been erased from any Google search we could try to perform. Behind me, I watched Jess tend to the Diamond girl. Jess had a way of slowly orientating the new girls into the group. As the Diamond Girl was groomed by Jess, she rested her back upward and awkwardly against the seatback, her hands cuffed from behind.

  It was like this with every infected we came across. They had been broken down mentally, and it took time for them to realize they had even done anything wrong. To realize that they were ‘infected’. Hell, in this case, the infected woman had lost her friend. I didn’t blame her for being less than friendly. Thankfully, Jess’s mind-altering abilities were coming in handy for this task.

  Hera sat next to me, in the passenger’s seat. I could feel the hate that was eating away at her insides. She wasn’t happy about my little parade of skull crushing, but I’d had no choice. I wish she’d drop the hero act sometimes.

  “Okay,” I finally said. “Let me hear it.”

  Hera sat, staring out the window at the morning sun with her arms crossed, mimicking how her ego felt. Closed off.

  “You shouldn’t have killed them,” she said.

  “You know, Hera,” I said. “This world isn’t black and white. Good versus evil.”