Almost Infamous: A Supervillain Novel (10 page)

All right, the “Illusor Sucks” crowd does have some points.

#
LessonLearned:
Sometimes being flashy is better than being dangerous.

#LessonLearned:
Also, don’t find God.

6

SHOW AND TELL DAY

Nevermore.

Her name was Nevermore. She was from Paris, France, a Virgo, could make her tattoos become real world objects, was a huge fan of Edgar Allen Poe, and was “a shining blossom of femininity whose petals only needed the slightest of coaxing to bloom.” These were all details I got from Artok on the breakfast line. He said he’d gotten what he needed from her and that I was welcome to her if I wanted.

I did.

Knowing that I did was the easy part.

Knowing what to do next wasn’t.

I’d never been on a date and had never been able to muster the courage to even ask Kelly Shingle out, and she was only the prettiest girl at school.

Out here, surrounded by some of the hottest bad girls in the world, I needed some serious help.

Lacking Vic for advice on such matters, I went to the few people I knew well enough to ask for advice.

Odigjod didn’t know much of human courtship, and I’m still doing my best to forget the nightmarish details he provided on the imp reproductive process.

Felix was gay, so I didn’t think he’d be much help.

I was sure Firewall had experience asking girls out, but for some reason she was offended by my question and threatened to blow me to pieces if I ever asked it again.

Showstopper went into a long-winded speech about how a good sense of humor, listening to girls, and occasionally sacrificing my dignity would help.

So, they weren’t any help. I’d have to improvise.

I’d have to watch, and wait, and plan, and find my moment.

That moment came about an hour later.

It arrived not long after the morning announcement. Blackjack said that our first test would be that afternoon, and they would deliver some more comfortable clothing than our “pitiful attempts at costumes.” We each got a foot locker at the base of our beds stocked with t-shirts, athletic shorts, clean socks and underwear, running shoes, and toiletries (never had I thought I’d be so glad to see a bar of soap). Everything gray and navy blue, hardly stylish, but heaven compared to saltwater-soaked leather.

With some time to kill, I decided to take in the sights of our little shanty town.

There weren’t many.

A lot of people scoured the town ruins, bored, occasionally finding the odd bits of treasure or one of the many skeletons of Professor Death’s minions. Carnivore and his friends found an old death ray in the ruins of a daycare center and spent some time trying to get it working, but were only successful in blowing up a tree and fighting and exchanging various ethnic/sexual slurs with each other. They ended up tossing the ray aside and wandering off.

Since I couldn’t get it to work either, I found Firewall and gave the gun to her. It didn’t completely smooth over my question from that morning, but it did get a rare smile and a “Thanks” from her.

After wandering around the town, I finally found Showstopper, Ghost Girl, and a couple other villains at the edge of the forest, chucking rocks and pieces of rubble at a tree.

“Another one of those killer trees getting close?” I asked.

“Nah, just mangoes this time,” Ghost Girl said, chucking another stone and missing a mango.

“Little help?” Showstopper asked.

Normally, this would have been when I’d have made some excuse and not helped out, mostly because I didn’t want to fail and have them laugh at me. That would have been the case if I didn’t see
her
sidling on over to our group, curiously looking up at the tree.

Suddenly, my newly gained confidence (thank you, Icicle Man) returned.
I’m Apex Strike, the greatest supervillain in the world. I can do anything if I put my mind to it.
With a grin, I raised both of my hands, focusing on the hanging fruit. I watched as a heavy limb, covered with ripe, juicy mangoes began to shudder. I had it. I looked back to the others. I looked to Nevermore. I pulled.

I remember a loud snapping sound and some screams.

I remember the world violently tilting on its end before going black.

I vaguely remember hearing the words “Holy shit!,” “Impaled,” and “Should we call Spasm?”

Most of all, I just remember wondering if Nevermore would like to fill her hair with scrambled eggs before or after I gave her a mango.

Serious head injuries can make you wonder things like that.

“Tell me if this hurts.” I recognized his voice. It was the Irish guy who told us all to shut up last night.

“Huh?” I muttered, slowly regaining consciousness.

The searing pain of a lit cigarette being pressed to the inside of my wrist sped that process up considerably.

“FUCK!” I screamed, eyes bolting open to see a grimy, stubbly, dark-skinned young man with wire-rimmed glasses and a faded green army jacket sitting in a chair by my cot. I waved a hand at him, flinging him across the room and into the wall.

He laughed, putting the cigarette back between his lips. “I’ll take it from your response that your answer would be yes?”

“Why did you do that?”

He got up, shrugging and sitting back in his chair. “Why not?”

“Because… fuck! You burned me with a cigarette!”

“That I did. I can also fix that,” he said, pointing at me. I felt a sudden wave of euphoria, and all at once didn’t even notice or care what he’d done.

“This island’s living up to its name quite well. I’ve seen about as many injuries here since last night as I would a good week in Belfast: broken bones, gashes, burns, bug bites like crazy. But you and your infinite stupidity truly took the cake, for today at least. I imagine worse to come, especially if they keep you on.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” I said.

“Nearly killing yourself to impress some girls, even lovely girls, is stupid. You probably woulda died if your associates hadn’t brought you to me. The name’s Long, by the way. Liam Long, though I guess you’re supposed to call me Spasm, and body control’s my specialty. I put your healing response, immune system, and blood production into overdrive and made you good as new. There, pretty as a picture,” he said, waving a hand and sending the euphoria away.

I was suddenly aware of my bloodstained t-shirt full of holes, but that was probably better than having Ghost Girl tell everyone what my last thoughts were while they buried me next to Iron Bear. I doubt I would’ve sounded very good.

“This is… impressive,” I said, looking myself over.

“A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, but I’ll take the compliment as well. Just remember to put in a good word for your old pal Spasm if the heroes start asking who you are and aren’t fond of,” he said, shaking a cigarette out from his pack and offering one to me. I declined.

I wanted to ask him a thousand questions. How long had I been out? Where was everybody else? Were they laughing at me?

“So… were they impressed?” I asked.

Spasm stared at me as if he suddenly saw worms crawling out of my mouth. Then he walked away, laughing.

“Don’t be late. Our test’s starting soon.”

I found some clean clothes in my foot locker, changed, and ran outside. I was in such a hurry I barely even heard her calling for me.

“That was very foolish what you did, Apex Strike!”

She stood just outside the door to the men’s barracks, tossing a mango back and forth between her hands. Nevermore. She’d tied her gray t-shirt into a knot just below her rack, showing off some of the unsettling tattoos on her stomach. She would have been kind of scary if she didn’t have a mischievous smile.

And, I gotta admit, the French accent did it for me too.

She tossed over the mango. “I had to save this for you, before the rest of the vultures swooped in. What you did may have been foolish, but still deserves its rewards.”

Is this the only reward I get?

“Thanks,” I said. I had no idea what to do with it. She looked at me expectantly. I lifted it to my mouth and took a big, juicy bite out of it. The skin was waxy and bitter, and the juice and bits of fruit poured down my face.

“It’s good,” I said, trying not to choke on a piece of skin as I swallowed.

“And you are very sweet, as well as foolish,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “Would you like to walk with me to our test?”

She could have asked me to set myself on fire at that moment and I probably would have. “Sure.”

Who am I kidding. Probably?!

We talked about inconsequential things, our trip across the island, costumes, our favorite superheroes, what the upcoming tests might be like. I caught some of what she said, but the rest was a blur. There was probably some important information in there that I missed, but I mostly remember images (her smile, the tightness of her shirt across her chest, her laughing when I might have said something funny), and thinking
don’tfuckupdon’t fuckupdon’tfuckup
.

We were among the last to arrive. There were rows of folding chairs—enough to fit everyone on the boat—by the ruins of a building that had since been made to look like a cartoon bank. Blackjack stood by a table with three chairs lined up behind it, checking her watch and doing a head count; a man about two heads taller than her, dressed up as a rent-a-cop, stood behind her, looking bored. Nevermore ran off to join some friends. I found Odigjod, Showstopper, Ghost Girl, Felix, and Firewall in a row of seats toward the front. Firewall had come in her newly modified suit, with a couple robot arms and the ray gun I’d found added to her arsenal.

Satisfied that we were all here, Blackjack pulled a microphone from her pocket.

“Glad y’all showed up… what’s left of you, anyway. Welcome to your first assessment. Make it past this, and you’ve earned yourself a few more days on the island. Don’t, and, well, you’ve earned yourself a bed, a room, and three square meals a day in the Tower with its miles and miles of smiles!”

Yeah, reminding us of the stakes was going to get an honest assessment. Those who weren’t completely arrogant and full of themselves were trying to keep from shaking, shitting themselves, or vomiting.

Maybe even all three, like me.

“Today’s what we like to call Show and Tell Day. Each of you’s gonna have three minutes to impress us. Trick us into believin’ that you’re
real
supervillains. Now of course, since this is a competition, we’re gonna need some judges.” With that said, Blackjack pulled a small controller from her pocket and pressed a button.

From behind her appeared a Tri-Hole, which opened as three heroes stepped out. First came Black Blur, a dark-skinned, middle-aged superhero from London who smiled broadly and waved. The second was a bubbly, twenty-something blonde in a bright red, white, and blue costume with a lot of bare midriff and a domino mask. Shooting Star. She’d won a spot on the Protectors two seasons ago on
America’s Next Protector
. Though she hadn’t done any major heroism, she did have a rather lucrative career as a Christian pop singer, which made seeing her here unlikely.
Everybody needs a hobby, I guess.

The last to step out was a large, muscular man. Completely bald and in his early seventies, he had a dour, scarred face from decades of superheroism. The Voice of the People, one of the Soviet Union’s finest.

He didn’t look very nice.

They all took seats at the table facing what I assumed was the stage as Blackjack explained the test. She went on about how all good heroes and villains had catchphrases, and how even though some were good and others were bad, when said with conviction they were vital to a super’s branding. So, in addition to showing our stuff, we would be given a card with three increasingly silly things to say to see how well we would commit ourselves to doing as we were told.

“First up… Apex Strike!”

At first, I didn’t hear my name; I was so focused on wondering how embarrassing these catchphrases would be. Then I felt hands, some encouraging, some glad it wasn’t them, pushing me along the aisles, others offering encouragement, whispering that they wanted to see me crash and burn. Blackjack guided me to the judge’s table, where Shooting Star handed me a card.

“Knock ’em dead, cutie,” she said, shooting me a quick wink. My confidence swelled.

“Impress us or else,” the Voice of the People said. And just as it had risen, my confidence immediately shrunk.

Quickly, I looked at the card. They had to be kidding.

“I’m really supposed to say this?” I asked.

“It’s easier than it looks, trust me,” Black Blur said. “Once the adrenaline’s flowing, you can do anything.”

I walked up to the mock bank set, keeping most of my shakes in check. The fake rent-a-cop pulled a baton from his belt, beating it against his free hand and smiling. Something about him looked familiar…

Blackjack smiled back at me, shaking her head slightly before turning to the rest, “Now, one of you versus an ordinary Joe may be fun to watch, but it’s hardly what we’re lookin’ for here. So, to make this more interestin’, I’d like to introduce you all to our special guest judge today, Everywhere Man.”