Confessions of a D-List Supervillain (11 page)

I leave my belongings in the cargo elevator and walk toward the conference room. “Time to make nice and play well with others,” I say to no one in particular.

The door opens and I feel like it’s the first day of school. The table is rectangular with a view of the digital map of New Orleans and the surrounding area on the plasma screen.

“Mechanical,” Wendy greets me. “I’m glad you’re here. We’re already up to our necks in problems. You and I are the only two heroes that fly. The Navy has one of their USNS ships coming in this morning. They can’t pull pier side. There is nowhere to put them even without the rioters. Their helicopters are down with engine problems. Until they’re back online and the pier situation is under control, we’re going to need you to unload it and fly the pallets into the warehouse. José prime and two of his clones will hold down the fort and the rest of the team will be there to provide security at the distribution center.”

I look around and see casual indifference from Chain Charmer. His main weapons are six magical chains of various lengths wrapped around his body. Occasionally they rustle and the ends rise, giving the appearance that they are alive. He uses them like extensions of his arms and can use them to propel himself around and encircle his enemies. Charmer is shorter than me, with jet black hair and no shave anytime in recent history. With his normally boyish Asian looks, he now reminds me of a bad guy in one of those cheap martial arts movies. He’s skinnier than I’d seen in pictures on the internet and looking kind of gaunt. There’s little doubt this is due to the death of his spouse, Grey Logger. Their wedding was televised on one of the cable channels.

I still have my faceplate closed and nod to him. Seated to his left is Dozier. Sheila is a big, intimidating Amazonian at least six foot six and the only hero to return from the previous lineup. It’s probably just as well. I didn’t have nearly the level of interaction with her as I did with some of the others. The bags under her eyes make me wonder when the last time the blonde got any sleep.

Five of the six José’s are in the room. The other one must be on monitor duty. That’s got to be depressing! Does he get six votes or just one when we have to decide on something?

Between a pair of clones is Anemone, a Manglermal created in Doc Mangler’s lab. Old Doc had himself a super soldier program funded through DARPA turning volunteers into hybrids with increased strength, speed, and other benefits. I wouldn’t have minded giving it a whirl, but it turned out that there was a sixty percent mortality rate among the volunteers and the reversal process never did quite reach the production phase. The Doctor was able to successfully bury those minor details for a brief time, but eventually he lost his big fat Uncle Sam contract and was forced to go into hiding. The Improved Humans Program was phased out and replaced with the automated soldier project headed up by Promethia and other competitors.

It didn’t stop Mangler. If anything, his bottom line improved once he hit the black market. The criminal underworld didn’t really care as much about their foot soldiers. It was one of those “can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs” things.

Anemone’s dark skin secretes a powerful paralytic and, according to Wendy, was one of the few that the bugs couldn’t get at because of that fact. Supposedly, the Jamaican gangbanger hid out on a derelict oil platform off the coast of Mexico until the threat was eliminated.

He wears a protective suit that collects his juice and allows him to spray it in a pressurized mist or stream. The downside is that his dates have to wear these full body condom things or get off on being paralyzed. From what I understand, it’s not pretty. The upside is that he’s a natural – if that’s the right word – at crowd control! He’s working off three grand larceny convictions and numerous lesser offenses – criminals of the world unite!

The other Manglermal is a lizard lady who calls herself, Kimodo. She must be a new convert because she doesn’t have a criminal history or she has been smart enough not to get caught. My guess is that the lady is strong, a leaper and does a good job climbing sheer surfaces. As I examine her, she flicks her tongue at me.

The last face gives me pause. No, not him! Please God no! Despite my fervent wishing, there he is … The Biloxi Bugler. He just grins at me and gives me a wink. Of course he had to come out of retirement. The first stinking hero I ever lost to … the guy who sent me to prison … I have to work with him?

“Are you okay with that, Mechanical? If not, we can switch and you can help get all the freighters and tankers free that are aground on the banks of the Mississippi. You’re probably better suited for carrying cargo since my winds would probably damage the pallets and such and my wind won’t punch through the hull of a ship like you would.”  Wendy asks and I realize I haven’t said anything yet. It’s probably unnerving her.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I’d rather be a cargo hauler than a tugboat. It doesn’t matter to me. I just need to change out my powercells and pack some spares. We’re in for a long day.”  Somehow, my first day on a super team doesn’t look so epic.

“Okay, until we can get some sense of normality around here, I’m not going to hold a deputy vote. Sheila is well known in these parts and she’s going to be the deputy leader for the foreseeable future. If anything happens, I won’t be more than a half hour away. Any questions? None? Good then Onward Guardians!”

I cringe as Sheila, the José’s, and The Bugler repeat it with gusto. Chain Charmer mumbles it while I look at the two Manglermals and try to remember why I signed up for this in the first place.

• • •

“I’m glad to see you finally on the side of the righteous, Mechani-CAL. You’ve come a long way since ManaCALes,” The Bugler corners me back at the cargo elevator and says. At least he’s putting the right emphasis on my names. He at least respects me enough to do that or he’s anal retentive. It could be both.

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time Bugler,” I answer. “I didn’t even know you were on the squad. You look like you’ve dropped a ton.”

It’s true. He’s in as good a shape as when we first fought all those many years ago. In his retirement speech, he admitted that he had adult onset type two diabetes and that it was time for a younger generation to answer the clarion call of justice or some similar garbage. It’s another case of the bug diet plan getting some people healthy while others were just made to die.

“It was strange. One day I’m watching strange news on the television and digging the costume out of the closet. The next thing I know, I wake up and I’m one hundred and ten pounds lighter! As for why I’m back, I have to believe I was spared for a reason. Just like you, Mr. Stringel, I’ve been given another opportunity and I know I still have something to offer.”

“Why did you want to join a team this time? You had a pretty good solo gig going.”

“I’m just a reservist, who has been activated until Andydroid is able to join us.”

There’s a light at the end of this tunnel! “Shouldn’t you be getting to the sleds?”  All this bonding is making me uncomfortable. I might have to hurl.

“It’s a fresh start for both of us, Mechani-Cal. I want to put our past behind us and be good teammates. Feel free to call me Bo when we’re not in uniform.”

The bile is creeping up in the back of my throat, but it’s a nice gesture, so I’ll reply in kind. “Well in that case, I’m sorry I put you in the hospital that time. Speaking of that, you ought to think about wearing some thicker armor.”

“My wife is making me look into it. That is part of the reason I asked to join the Guardians. She doesn’t want me out in the thick of things by myself anymore.”

“Sounds like she really cares for you,” I say, still feeling uncomfortable. I have enough problems with my own relationship issues.

“That she does, boyo. That she does. So, what do you have there?”  He gestures at the case I’m opening. Inside is one of the things I created out of the salvage pile at MountOlympus.

“My second minion. It’s a hover drone.”  I remove the three foot wide flying saucer object and lift it up for the hero to inspect. “I’m still working the kinks out.”

“What’s it do?”

“Right now, Floater can fly and responds to basic commands from my neural net. I’ve got room for a camera and a small modular weapon mount, but it has to be lightweight. I’m down to three options; a pair of micromissles, a compact pulse pistol, or a sonic oscillator similar to the one in your bugle.”

The Bugler looks at the space available with a critical eye. “I’m partial to sonics, as you’re well aware, but the mount is too close to your camera equipment. You won’t be able to fire a sustained burst without damaging your camera unless you can move the mount or redesign the oscillator. If you’d like some help with it, I can assist. I think you’ll have the same problem with the pulse pistol. My recommendation is the pair of missiles.”

I often forget that many of these heroes are inventors in their own right. The Bugler’s specialty is audio engineering. It’ll be strange collaborating with him, since much of the sonic design I have been using is lifted from his own work.

“Sure, I guess so.”

“If that’s your second minion, I have to ask what your first minion is.”

“Roller was too big to bring with me. I’m having it brought back from DC when the Olympians return this base’s jet. I built it off of parts from six different Type B robots. It’s bigger, stronger, and faster.”

• • •

The main deck of the navy supply ship is a beehive of activity. If I had some free time, I’d offer to try and fix either of their choppers and get myself out of this monotonous job. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury as pallet after pallet is waiting for me. There’s a sling assembly that allows me to carry two at a time. When I first landed, the deck crew wanted me to pose for pictures with them.

I’ll admit it is kind of surreal. I guess I’m famous now as Aphrodite’s boyfriend. People actually want to be seen with me.

When they assure me the sling is reconnected, I grip it and check to make certain everyone is clear of the blast zone and activate the jet pack. It’s a struggle to get up into the air as I turn back toward the city and the five mile trip to the warehouses.

They didn’t want to use the warehouses near the piers because of all the protesters, rioters, or whatever they’re being called these days are. Naturally, the ones in the know found out where the food was going ahead of time and are there. From below, I see them streaming like a line of ants. Actually, they’re a little bigger since I’m not flying that high, so maybe they’re more like lemmings.

Here I am congratulating myself for my rapier sharp wit and I almost miss the change in the crowd. At first, it looks like the rioters had finally reached the boiling point, but a whole bunch of them are running into the people making their way to the warehouses. It’s a stampede of fools running scared. There was a time in my past where I inspired that kind of “run for your life or you’re gonna die” fear.

I switch over to the feed from Floater, who I left outside the warehouse. Something is jamming it. I only get an intermittent fuzzy picture, but I can see a big hole blown in the side. The distant piercing sounds emanating from the Bugler’s weapon reaches my audio receivers and confirms my diagnosis.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves some supervillains in the area. I drop my load on the nearest roof and raise Wendy on our emergency frequency.

“Wendy, Cal here. Something’s going down at the warehouse. I think the team is under attack. Is anyone else on the line?”

There’s a pause before Wendy says, “Negative Cal. It’s just us. Better get there in a hurry. I’m fifteen minutes out.” 

“I’ll be there in one minute. I’ll try to let you know what’s going on, but you might lose me as well to whatever is jamming their signal. I’m going in hot.”

“Copy that, Mechanical. Good hunting.”

Seconds later, the link to Wendy is drowned with static. Whatever or whoever is the source of the jamming is playing havoc with my systems. It gets worse as I approach and I’m forced to fly closer to the ground, in case my navigation systems go haywire. Besides, if they’ve been watching me come and go through the roof access that’s where they be expecting me to come in.

Frankly, I’m just not that dumb. Circling around the back, I see a gaping hole where the wall used to be. I think I’ll go in that way. Unfortunately, being on delivery boy duty has left my suit woefully under gunned. I don’t have my sledge hammer or my mini-gun, so I’ll have to focus on speed and just hit hard with what little I do have.

Strafing through the opening, I see rats … thousands of rats, crawling everywhere. That means that useless idiot Rodentia is here. There he is commanding his furry horde and firing a submachine gun like the psychotic little runt he is. Right next to him is the bloated form of Gunk spewing that same sticky phlegm that’s still all over the holding cells in my base. That crap hardens to a consistency of concrete when it dries. I couldn’t even power wash it off. I should have done the world a favor and killed at least one of them when they were my prisoners, preferably Gunk.

Sending a shot from my force blaster at the two minor league clowns, I start looking for the ringleader of this circus. Kimodo and She-Dozer are down already. The rest have fallen back and are using the pallets for cover.

Wham!

Something knocks me to the ground and sends me careening into stacks of dry goods. Killing my jetpack, I try to get traction and slow myself down before I go right out through the wall. With that accomplished, I look around for who bushwhacked me.

E.M. Pulsive! I hadn’t seen Eddie in a long time. He’s a guy who can turn his body into electrical energy and we have a history together. I did some rent-a-thug work for him back in the day and he’s going to be a tough nut to crack, because he’s been known to give even Ultraweapon a problem.

Truth be told, one of the reasons I worked for “Empy” was I’d been hoping to team up and take a shot at Lazarus Patterson, but it never came to fruition.

“Good help is hard to find there, Empy? You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel with these two.”