World Domination

by Steve Beaulieu

  The server came back with the creamer. The Aspect steadily poured it into his mug, clouding his dark bitter drink with light. “Yes.”

  “Can you feel pain?”

  The Aspect nodded and held up the coffee, as if to say remember?

  And still he was willing to give up his life.

  Even knowing what she did, Viper hadn’t yet conceived of a way to successfully bypass his powers, but she couldn’t imagine it would be a painless thing. Death rarely is. But the death of a hero? Never. If her experience on the streets of Sacramento were anything to go by, it might even demand her sacrificing herself, too. Blood for blood. Maybe her mamá had known something she didn’t when she named her.

  “They have us torturing one another,” Viper whispered. If she spoke any louder, she feared he would hear the rage in her voice. Or worse—the doubt. Part of her would enjoy killing him, of course, the way she might enjoy solving a very intricate puzzle or beating a difficult level in a video game. But once the adrenaline and the bestial satisfaction burned off, she knew she would return to the cold stiff creature her father always said she was—and wouldn’t it be nice to prove him wrong for once?

  Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how half-sick of shadows she was. How desperate for sunlight and warmth and the relief of doing the right thing.

  The Aspect looked at her with eyes the color of open sky, though his expression was caged by worry. “I don’t think that was their intention, but that’s the reality, yes.”

  “Then let’s change our reality,” Viper said, “and then change theirs.”

  • • •

  “…until cheese has melted. Once the outside is golden brown, serve,” Viper said, after watching the last of The Burnt Aspect’s air bubbles pop against the murky blue surface of Lake Folsom. Everything felt hushed, even as the trees bent toward her in the wind, and rain pelted her head. Better than bullets, she thought.

  And then Viper was awake.

  Someone had the good sense to tilt her onto her side just before she began to vomit, no doubt a side effect of whatever drugs they’d given her to remain comatose and pliant to the lies of her virtual world.

  “That was quick,” Sasha said in her soft, Irish accent. Viper felt a small hand at her back and nearly wept. Not because she knew it was real, but because to her there was so little difference now. “Here, try to sit up. Not too quickly.”

  “Welcome back,” Manic said from his desk nearby, swiveling around in his seat to face her. Gharial was also present, quietly lurking near the open doorway in his stupid black crocs. His idea of a joke. Someone must have sent for him when Viper’s vitals began to indicate her rising state of consciousness. As for the others, they were probably off serving their country, the only way they could. With claws and fangs and lead.

  Sasha handed her a glass of water, and Viper gulped it down.

  “Quick?” Viper said, dreary and out of breath. It felt like she’d merely overslept. “How long was I—there?” She didn’t know what to call the simulation, except hell.

  “Only a few hours. You must have done great,” Sasha said, and her smile was bright as a naked bulb. It made Viper hurt. Sasha had no idea what she had been through. None. Maybe no one else ever would.

  Well, no. There was one person who would.

  “So?” Manic said, casually popping his feet onto another chair nearby. “What’s the trick to killing Superman?”

  Viper sprang to her feet, crossed the room, and found Manic’s throat with her hands. She bared her fangs, secreting poison into her mouth. “Did you know I would be trapped there until he was dead?” When Manic didn’t immediately answer, she shook him, fighting the instinct to sink her teeth into his neck. She had no reason to believe her poison wouldn’t kill her team leader, but knowing N.E.S.T. there was a good chance they were all immune to one another. “Talk!”

  “It was a preventative measure,” Manic said. “So you wouldn’t accidentally pull out ahead of time. All of our research suggests he’s crafty. He could have made appeals. Fooled you.”

  Viper replied characteristically: with her middle finger and a suggestion on what Manic should go do with himself.

  “Rude,” Manic said at the same time Sasha gasped, “Tia!”

  “Where is he?” Viper demanded to know.

  “Who?” Manic said.

  “You know who. The Aspect. I know you have him.”

  Gharial twitched near the door. He hadn’t moved until now, even to stop Viper from potentially murdering their captain. Someone’s nervous. “How did you know he’s here?” Gharial asked.

  “Should I call security?” Sasha asked Manic uneasily. Her fear might have wounded Viper more if she hadn’t moved so far beyond giving a crap.

  “Take me to him,” Viper said to Manic.

  “Eager, aren’t we?” Manic said. “Fine. But you’re cleaning up the mess in the brig afterward.” He nodded toward Gharial. “Go with her.” And then again to Viper, he added, “Maybe you’ll be in a better mood after warming your blood. Damn snake.”

  Gharial brought Viper to the brig where The Burnt Aspect waited. When they entered his cell, she found him lying flat on a small cot near a machine that looked very much like the one Viper had woken up beside. His hands were handcuffed to the wall, his mouth and chest smeared with vomit. He had woken alone, sick and probably confused, and for some reason that pissed her off.

  “Do you need anything?” Gharial asked. Viper knew what he meant. This was supposed to be an execution. He wanted to know if she needed weapons beyond what her own body was capable of.

  “I have everything I need,” Viper said. “Go on. Vete!”

  Gharial hesitated, then relented, leaving the room with hands raised.

  And then they were alone. The bulkhead groaned, an echo of metal warring with water.

  “We’re on a boat,” the Aspect murmured to the ceiling.

  “Ship,” Viper corrected, coming toward him.

  “Makes a kind of sense,” he said, and then turning his head weakly so he could see her, added, “So now you know how to do it. And we’re near water.”

  “Convenient.”

  Viper lowered her head, spitting acid onto the Aspect’s chains. The metal began to dissolve almost immediately.

  “You smell awful,” she said afterward, flicking out her tongue.

  The Aspect pulled his hands together, rubbing his wrists. “Thanks for noticing. And commenting on it. So what happens now? Should I prepare to embrace—how did you put it before, my inevitable demise?”

  “You saved me,” Viper said, managing to sound only a little ungrateful. “I’m returning the favor.”

  “That’s very noble of you.”

  Viper tugged off a sleeve of her own skin from her arm, exposing neat wet scales beneath. They were a different color than before. She didn’t know what that meant, if anything. “I’m going to have to kill you if I get the chance, or N.E.S.T. is going to kill me. So for now, I think it’s best if you make a good show of escaping. ”

  The Burnt Aspect stood. He looked considerably poorer, missing his white pants and ugly paisley shirt. The bruises around his eyes from fatigue reminded her of his missing shades. “And the next time we meet?”

  “Like I said.” She drew a finger across her throat.

  The Aspect made a disgruntled noise. “Disappointing—unlikely—but understandable.”

  Viper braced herself in the doorway of his cell, knowing the security cameras would catch this moment. “But, no lo sé, maybe I’ll make you dinner first,” she rushed out, avoiding his eyes.

  “Dinner?” The Aspect stood across from her.

  “How do you feel about chile rellenos?”

  “I’m friendly toward the idea.”

  “Good.” Viper tore off another sleeve of molting skin, this one from her other arm. Another new pattern of scales emerged. “Now, let’s make this look real.”

  Later when Manic asked her what had happened she told the t
ruth. She’d gotten careless with a dangerous man. She never said when.

  A Word from Hayley Stone

  I’ve always liked supervillains. The main character, Green Viper, was actually conceived a number of years ago while on a family vacation, when I was but a wee lass who liked to draw. Her ultimate appearance and flexible morality coalesced in this story, but I still credit fourteen-year-old me with the name and powers. If you go to my website, hnstoneauthor.com, you can find a picture of the original drawing.

  As most of you will no doubt recognize, this story takes a lot of inspiration from the 1993 classic, Groundhog Day. In many ways, Bill Murray’s character becomes almost godlike due to his foreknowledge of events, and I wondered how that situation might play out with a less good-natured figure, and the intent to kill. A computer simulation seemed like the perfect environment for such hijinks, where anything is possible and the deaths don’t matter. (Or do they?)

  A special thanks to my friend and coworker, Clara Enriquez Garcia, who made sure my Spanish was a cut above Google Translate. Any mistakes are mine.

  If you enjoyed this story, I encourage you to check out some of my other work. My debut novel, Machinations, was selected as one of Amazon’s Best Sci-fi & Fantasy Books of 2016, and its sequel, Counterpart, was also an Amazon Best Book of the Month that same year. I always love hearing from readers. Feel free to reach out to me on Twitter (@hayley_stone) and Facebook, or sign up for my newsletter to gain access to freebies, giveaways, deleted scenes, and more.

  Ginger snaps.

  THE ARCH-NEMESIS

  BY CHRISTOPHER J. VALIN

  THE ARCH-NEMESIS

  BY CHRISTOPHER J. VALIN

  Eric immediately regretted slamming his fists down in frustration when he realized he had cracked his marble kitchen counter with each hand because he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

  He couldn’t remember where he had left it last night, when he had come home from the bar in a drunken stupor and fallen asleep still wearing his black motorcycle leathers. And they were starting to chafe after so many hours wearing them. He had already looked everywhere that would make any sense. His bedroom looked like it had been hit by a tornado, with clothes all over the floor and his drawers lying upside down on the bed. His living room was also a disaster area, with overturned sofa cushions and books and video games strewn about the place.

  It was time to get desperate.

  Eric opened his cabinets, throwing soup cans, boxes of cereal, and bags of chips all over his kitchen. Plates and glasses smashed as he tossed them to the floor.

  Where could it be?

  The doorbell rang. He ignored it, figuring it was either someone trying to help him find religion or some neighborhood girls selling cookies. Even the prospect of thin mints couldn’t sway him from his task.

  He rifled through the trash just in case, and gagged as the garbage made his alcohol-soaked stomach turn and his head ache a little more. No luck there, either.

  The doorbell rang again. Those little girls must be desperate to meet their quota. Then it hit him.

  Eric ran to the bathroom and immediately wished he had held his breath first. He covered his face with his arm as he slammed the lid down and flushed the mixture of Captain Morgan’s and partially-digested Taco Bell still in the toilet.

  There it was, sitting in the tub, having been rinsed off after he apparently hadn’t gotten it off before losing his late-night drive-thru feast. He grabbed the black cloth and tried to squeeze out what remained of the water.

  The doorbell rang several times in a row, followed by pounding on the door. “Eric! I know you’re in there!”

  Crap. It was Jocelyn. She was supposed to be at work today. Why was she here?

  He took a deep breath as he rushed to the door. He looked at his reflection in the window on the way and realized he looked like something out of a zombie movie.

  Eric opened the door anyway. “Look, Jocelyn, I—”

  Smack! Before he could finish, she gave him an open-handed slap across the face. Well, that certainly helped him wake up a bit. He shook his head to try to clear it.

  Jocelyn had tears in her eyes, but she seemed more angry than anything else. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know wh—”

  Jocelyn shoved past him in to the house, seemingly oblivious to the mess around her. “How could I have missed it? It was right in front of me.”

  Eric went back into the bathroom. Jocelyn kept talking from the other room. “And to think I was about to introduce you to—are you even listening to me?”

  Eric finished squeezing out the black cloth. “Yes. I’m—”

  “I knew it was too good to be true. Nobody with a body like yours is as smart as you are.”

  Eric replied as he came back into the living room. “I really can’t—”

  “And don’t even get me started on the outfits!”

  Eric looked down at his leathers. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “What the hell were you doing?”

  Eric had enough. His frustration finally boiled over into anger, and he shoved the black cloth toward her. “Looking for this!”

  Jocelyn was taken aback by the change in expression on his face, which was now an odd, angry grin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He pulled the black cloth over his head and revealed that it was a mask, with only the lower part of his face exposed, along with his eyes. “You have no idea.”

  Jocelyn backed away from him as she realized she’d made a terrible mistake. “I’m... just going to go.”

  Eric laughed as she tried to retreat for the door. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  He reached into the front closet and pulled out what looked like a prop raygun from an old sci-fi serial. He pulled the trigger and zapped Jocelyn with a blue pulse, and caught her as she fell unconscious. Then Eric carried his girlfriend—or was she his ex now?—over to his futon and laid her down.

  That was when he heard the sonic boom, which shook the house slightly. “No, no, no, no. Not yet.” He grabbed his goggles off the coffee table and pulled them down over his eyes.

  The boom was followed by a whistling sound, like when Wile E. Coyote plummets off a cliff as the result of a misguided attempt to make the Road Runner his dinner. Eric lifted his entire sofa and tossed it aside with only the slightest effort, and grabbed the big-ass weapon that had been hidden underneath.

  Just in time.

  There was a tremendous crash as something came through the ceiling of Eric’s house with the force of a demolition ball. Once the debris ceased falling and the dust began to clear, he could see the silhouette of a man.

  But not just any man.

  Ripped muscles, red-white-and-blue spandex, and an iron jaw framing an impossibly handsome face. And a cape. A cape that somehow billowed behind him despite the absence of any breeze.

  Eaglestar.

  “Surrender, Battlegear.” The hero always spoke like he was doing a voiceover for an action movie. Or maybe a truck commercial.

  Eric sneered back at him. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “You can’t beat me.”

  “No, I mean you’ll literally pay for all this damage. There’s no way my insurance is going to cover it.”

  Eaglestar took a step toward him, but stopped when Eric pointed the giant weapon at him. Eaglestar noticed Jocelyn lying on the futon and gave Eric an angry look.

  Eric was defiant. “That’s on you. This was between us.”

  Eaglestar frowned. “She had a right to know who you really are. What you really are.”

  “No. No way. That was just a petty, vindictive move. Plain and simple.” Eric flipped a switch on the weapon, and a slight hum indicated it was powering up. “Plus, it’s against The Code.”

  Eaglestar ignored the remark and pointed at the weapon. “I recognize that thing. Last time I barely felt it.”

  “I’ve made some improvements.” Eric pulled the trigger and the weapon jolted and ki
cked back on his shoulder as a lightning blast erupted from it, slamming Eaglestar through the wall on the other side of the room. Eric approached the hole in the side of his house and looked through. Just outside was a burnt, fallen tree and a smoking hole leading into his neighbors’ garage.

  With a proud smile, Eric slung the weapon over his back and went to the futon. He prepared to put Jocelyn over his shoulder when he noticed a crackling sound coming from behind him.

  Turning around, he saw Eaglestar standing in the opening in the wall, seemingly untouched except for the front of his costume being burnt away. His eyes—the source of the crackling—glowed as steam poured off of his body like a steak hot off the grill.

  “Nobody... messes with... the costume...”

  Even though he was wearing his goggles and knew to close his eyes, Eric still saw the bright flash of Eaglestar’s laser vision as he felt the searing heat and pummeling force of the blast.

  • • •

  The next thing he knew, he was being slapped across the face again. Eric opened his eyes and saw Jocelyn standing in front of him in tears, her arms crossed. Behind her stood Eaglestar with a smug look of satisfaction.

  “I think I need to go to the hosp—”

  “You don’t deserve anything except to rot in jail, you sonovabitch. How could you not tell me?”

  Eric tried to focus. “I can expl—”

  Smack! Another slap from Jocelyn. “No. I am never speaking to you again after this. I gave you the best six-and-a-half weeks of my life, and this is how you repay me? Zapping me with some kind of... of... whatever the hell that was?

  “Well, I—”

  Smack! “Shut up!”

  Eric rubbed his sore cheek. While he was super strong and tough, he was not invulnerable and could still feel everything. “Can you maybe stop doing that?”

  “No. I will not stop.”

  Eaglestar interrupted. “Miss, I’m going to have to take him in now.”

  Jocelyn turned to him. “Fine. I’m done. Go ahead and take him.”

  Eaglestar tossed Eric over his shoulder effortlessly and spoke to him under his breath. “I would not want to be you right now.”