Confessions of a D-List Supervillain (8 page)

“You still here, Mechani-Cal? You looked like you were drifting.”

Hearing her call me that is just wrong. “Just thinking of a way to prevent that from happening to me. Just call me Cal, please. So, you want me to give you the rundown on how to work your armor?”

“Did I really want to keep it?”

“You were able to fight Athena and Hera to a standstill in it.”

“Really?” she says with a gleam in her eye.

My helmet is sitting on the table. I flip the faceplate up, call up the archived video of the battle in Missouri, and turn it around so she can see. She watches with considerable interest and smiles at the end. “I’d never thought of getting my own set of armor. I guess I will need that refresher course.”

I reach out with my one bare hand and cover hers. She hesitates, but doesn’t pull away. “You told me once that you felt like one of the weaker Olympians. You’re not. Don’t ever sell yourself short, Stacy. I didn’t really save the world. I just put the pieces in place so you could.”

The heroine tilts her head and stares at me until I ask her, “What?”

“Outside of the Olympians, everyone always calls me Aphrodite, even Lazarus. You just called me Stacy.”

“You’ll probably remember why. It started because you were strung out and not behaving like a hero. I called you Aphrodite when you turned yourself around, but mostly in the field when we were on a mission. Around my hideout, you didn’t seem to mind Stacy. Do you want me to call you Aphrodite?”

“No, it doesn’t sound right coming from you, but that tells me how close we were.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” I say.

“It is,” her tone is reassuring. “I have a small confession to make. Holly was going to come out here and let you down easy and send you down south. She told me that I shouldn’t bother and that you were just in it for the money.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her. So, why didn’t she?”

“Andydroid interrupted with an emergency that required her presence. After she left, Andy admitted it was a ruse and showed me the video of us in the trophy room during the big battle and then right before I got zapped by Ultraweapon. I got a few things out of it.”

“You did?” I ask and decide that my new best friend is Andydroid.

“Well, the first was I obviously wanted to be your girlfriend and the look on your face was priceless. I had a similar look on my face when I came back in from the President’s speech. I was really happy to see you.”

Swallowing hard, I say, “You’re pretty observant. What was the other?”

“If you were only in it for the money, you wouldn’t have run back outside and fought that berserk mob of heroes and villains … and by fighting, I mean you did some serious damage. I thought Holly, was just being silly when she told the others to come in here and make sure you didn’t throw a super-tantrum, but after seeing that video and the one you just showed me of the two of us fighting together, I can see why.”

“I guess I finally made it off the D-List,” I joke, feeling a bit self-conscious.

She gives me an “oh please” look and continues, “Andy said that I was more confident around you and based on what I’ve seen so far, I believe him. I may not know the first thing about you, but I know you were important to me.”

“I want to believe you,” I say.

She shakes her head and replies, “My movies bombed. I was never that good of an actress.”

“We actually joked about that and agreed that you weren’t all that bad. Everyone stopped going when they figured out that you were never going to show any skin.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. So, are you sure you want to keep me around? Other than Andy, you’re not going to find too many people that approve.”

“Yeah. It looks like I’m stuck here for the time being and you’re out in the field, but I don’t see why not. Besides, Holly meddles too damn much and she needs an Olympic-sized ass chewing. Remember in the video when I said you need to make more of an effort to get along with her? Well, she’s going to get the same speech. As for the rest of the world, it’s none of their damn business who I date!”

I’m stunned by the fierceness of her tone. No one has ever stuck up for me like that. Either she really is an incredible actress, or all this means something to her as well.

Seeing that I’m at a loss for words, she continues with a take charge tone to her voice, “So, here’s the bottom line. You’re going to stick around. We’ll take it slow while I get my memories back. Then, we’ll play it by ear and see what happens. Any problems with that?”

“None. Just get a recording of you putting Holly in her place. I’d pay to see that.”  We both share a laugh before I continue, “What about Patterson? He’s one breakdown away from going over to the other side.”

“Holly and the others are going to keep a close eye on him. I’m washing my hands of it and he needs to get over me. Either way, he’s their problem and I’m going to use this to get him out of my life for good.”

She’s trading him for me?
“Are you sure?”  I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but it’s hard. This seems too good to be true.

“Positive. I should have never let him become more than just a friend.” She pauses. “Why do I suddenly have that song running around in my head?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Just a friend, you say? That’s our song.”

“No, I don’t think so. I never liked that song. If we do have a song, it’s definitely not that one.”  Despite her protests, she’s relaxing and enjoying herself. It’s a good sign.

“It’s probably the ray affecting your memory. You love the awesomeness that is Biz Markie.”

As we sit there and engage in witty banter, I see where my life is headed, and for the first time I’m more hopeful than bitter. I always thought I was just one unlucky break from being the next Lazarus Patterson.

Well, screw him! He can keep his suit and the teams of engineers that built it. I like mine better. The money? I’ll have enough. Who cares if the rest of the world doesn’t know or even care that I’m the real hero? Stacy does and that’s all I need.

Chapter Six

Riot Duty is Like Going Back to High School

Naturally, by the end of the next week, I’m already rethinking my decision and reconsidering a life of crime. Once again, I’ve found a way to go against the grain. Here I am, trying to get on the “straight and narrow,” and everyone else has turned into a mass of strung out, petty criminals. Finally getting a paycheck is even more ironic because money doesn’t seem to be worth anything right now.

Shaking my head at the foolishness of it all, I turn my attention to the problem in front of me. Riots have turned a good portion of Charlotte, North Carolina into something resembling a third world country and three guesses who they want to lend a hand?

On approach, I notice that what little had been left in the superstore from when the insects had taken over, has been looted and the folks left around are enjoying a good old fashioned four alarm fire. A ring of overturned vehicles blocks the two fire engines that are trying to get close to the Wal-Mart and a ragged line of a hundred or so cops and National Guardsmen are making a half-assed effort to drive off about five hundred shouting delinquents.

I’m somewhat torn. Drive them off and they’ll simply reform elsewhere and burn some other place to the ground because it doesn’t have any food inside. It almost makes me miss the bugs … almost. When the hive mind was in charge, trucks just dumped grain and other food at places where the “drones” were working and that was that.

Take away the mind controlling part and people weren’t so inclined to put in a hard day’s work and the infrastructure of the country collapses like a house of cards. The mass of sheep out there want to be able to go to the drive thru or have that pizza delivered. Unfortunately, gas is being hoarded. Fuel is being hoarded. Hell, I’m sure toilet paper is being hoarded and as a result hardly anything is making it into the major cities. Anything that does usually is ambushed at the city limits by these “checkpoints” that are popping up.

To the survivalist whack jobs out there, this must seem like a wet dream come true. Then again, I have a secret base with a large freezer filled to the brim with frozen waffles, shelves stocked with toilet paper, and other things. So what exactly does that make me?

Hovering over the crowd, I toggle my external speakers and pull up an audio clip of the same spiel I’d given a hundred different mobs in a hundred different cities. “Please cease and desist. Return to your homes. Follow the instructions of your local authorities for the duration of the crisis.”

That gets the “boos” going and my threat assessment software begins tracking all the projectiles incoming. Mostly it’s just empty glass bottles and garbage, so I sit there and take it and let the pissed off mob expend a little energy.

I’m only carrying a twelve round magazine of tear gas grenades and the day just started. It’s going to be a long one. Resisting the urge to just “gas and go,” I catch one of the liquor bottles and toss it into the air. My helmet mounted force blaster tracks the target and I vaporize it just as the bottle reaches its apex.

I cut off the looping audio file and look back down at the crowd. “Alright! Now I have your attention, let’s try this again. Go home. Do you really think burning down a Wally World is going to make things better? When they finally do get the food moving across the highways again, how does this help?”

Pointing at the cops and the guardsmen, I continue, “Maybe if you all weren’t here, they’d be somewhere else fixing other problems around this city instead of wasting their time with you dipshits.”

“Where’s the damn food?” self-appointed bullhorn guy yells. “People are starving here!”

The bugs would have given old Charlie Darwin something to smile about. If figures were to be believed, world population was down about half a billion. Those that couldn’t work were allowed to die off and did so with a smile on their faces. Those who were overweight got on an involuntary weight loss program. Statistically the world is now a much healthier, but not terribly happier place.

As evidenced by the crowd below.

I try the nice guy approach. Yeah, that’s a bit unusual for me, but I’m open to suggestions. “Look. Things will get better. Keep rationing what you have and stop burning shit to the ground.”

“When are they lifting Martial Law? What about our freedoms?”

“Do I look like a guy who knows when that’s going to happen? No, I’m on my way to another riot in Columbia, South Carolina and got diverted to your little pep rally here. Maybe the governor will consider lifting martial law when you stop rioting? Ever think about that, genius?”

After a few more exchanges with the idiot with the bullhorn and the crowd completely agreeing with him, I had my fill of being a nice guy. A quick check on wind direction and speed and I fire a spread of tear gas grenades. Four quick thump thumps from the forty millimeter and I had a nice little cloud of gas spreading across the group of rioters.

I suppose settling an argument with tear gas is poor sportsmanship, but Athena and her ilk consider me a warm body, good for shit like this. That’s not a very high bar to meet, and I’m not really trying to exceed their expectations. Besides, the way I look at it, I gave the guy a good five minutes of my time and now it’s time to pay up.

Of course, picking up one of the overturned vehicles and threatening to throw it at the guy might have been excessive and I’ll probably have to try and hack whatever footage might show up online, but the crowd is now officially scattering. As a former president might say, “Mission Accomplished!”

I stick around long enough to move the overturned cars and let the fire engines get in there before flying south of the city to Interstate 85. The one functioning police helicopter is reporting another one of those “toll booths” has cropped up. Entrepreneurs or modern day highwaymen – probably a bit of both, but since they have guns and are bent on terrorizing the people trying to get into the city that puts them in the way of what the current ringmaster at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is calling The Great Recovery.

From my perspective I’m going to get a clean start, a paycheck, and at least for the moment, I can rough up a few idiots without pissing anyone off that much. It’s a win-win scenario. Most scatter when I land, but a young mother and her maybe eight-year old kid fire once at me and immediately drop their weapons. The kid’s looks like a pellet pistol. They want to be arrested.

“What exactly are you two doing?”

“I heard there is food at the jail,” the woman says. “You can leave me, but please take him.”

“They’re in as bad a shape as everywhere else. Sorry.”  I try not to look at their faces. “Just try and hang on.”  I hope they straighten the food transportation problem out soon. There haven’t been any reports of cannibalism yet, but it is only a matter of time. The milk of human kindness is a bit curdled these days.

“Please, you must have something … anything.”

“Mechanical? Are you still in Charlotte?”  A female voice cuts in on the priority frequency. I don’t recognize it and she doesn’t get my name right.

“Hold on a sec,” I say to the woman next to me and cut my external mike. “Yeah, I know I’m supposed to be halfway to Columbia, but there were some complications. Who is this anyway?”

“It’s Wendy. No, I’m actually glad you’re still in the area. I need backup over near the basketball arena. There are reports of a super in that area who is still infected with the bugs and causing problems.”

Here I was expecting to get jumped on about being behind schedule. This is a pleasant surprise. WhirlWendy – the teenage tornado maker – well technically, she’s out of her teens now, but that’s beside the point. Since she ran with the New York City crowd and I mainly operated in the south, our paths didn’t cross much and I don’t really know her except from what I see in the media.

She’s pretty, if a petite, Italian American, B-cup, brunette with a pixie cut is what you’re looking for.  I generally like women that are more substantial, but that’s just me. Anyway, Wendy La Guardia - a distant relation to the guy they named the airport after - has been in the superhero and acting gigs since she was a preteen, and that makes her an “old hand” at twenty-one. Her mother runs Wendy’s vast merchandising empire and her father is the senior Senator from New York and chairs the Senate Superpowers Oversight Committee. As one of the most popular heroes in the world with all kinds of powerful friends and family, it’s a bad idea to make an enemy out of her.  

“Any idea who it is?”

“No, that’s why I called in for backup and Andydroid said you were nearby and on this frequency.”

“Okay, I’ll head over that way in a couple of minutes. Let me finish up here.”

“Understood. See you in a few.”

I look back through my visor at the hungry mother and her kid. Yeah, I’m kind of a lowlife with no qualms about tear gassing a crowd over being on the losing side of an argument, even if I was right. Turning on my external mike, I send the command to pop my side access panel and march her back to a battered SUV where she’s out of everyone’s line of sight.

“Look! I’m sick and tired of people asking me for food. I don’t care. I don’t have any either. I’m not going to arrest you either, so you’ll just have to take care of yourself and your kid. Do you understand?”

At the same time that I’m reading her the riot act. I point toward the open panel and make an unscrewing gesture with my gauntleted fingers. She gets the hint and reaches inside and unhooks the food tube and slides the item into her large, but mostly empty purse. It’s got two pounds of chicken dumpling paste inside. Not exactly scrumptious, but if I just gave it to her, any thug watching would confiscate it and possibly kill her. Maybe I’m getting soft, but I push it off as I’m not that hungry right now.

Besides, I like the beef stew better anyway. Yeah, that’s it.

• • •

My onboard sensors start acting funny as I close on Wendy’s position. She’s darting around in the air and it looks like something is chasing her. All the interference is making it hard to lock on. I magnify and see some humanoid shapes leaping at her.

Swiveling my six barrel pulse mini-gun around, I accelerate. Without solid targeting information, I have to eyeball it and make certain to avoid hitting WhirlWendy. My first burst knocks a couple backwards, but doesn’t seem to cause any injury. That’s not supposed to happen.

The first one I can get a clean look at appears to be some kind of phantom punk princess with her hair in a Mohawk, along with spiked wristbands, and dog collar. She’s flying at me with no visible form of propulsion and I see no point in trying to talk to them. Wendy is probably much better at that and they attacked her anyway. I zap her with my helmet mounted force blaster. She takes it right in the kisser and goes flying back about twenty feet … but that’s it!

A second one, this time it’s a nerdish looking youth with an equally phantom laptop in his hands rams into my side and checks me like we’re in a hockey game. Whatever they are, they’re solid. I throw an elbow and brush him off.

“I thought you were going to wait for me?”  I yell at Wendy.

“I thought I was too! We’ve got to get through these and down to him before it’s too late!”  She points down at the ground.

“Who is that?” I ask while fending off a jock in a letterman’s jacket with a baseball bat.

“I think its Imaginary Larry,” she replies scattering three others attacking her with a gale force wind. “These things are telekinetic constructs.”

I’d heard of this guy, but never thought I’d run into him. He’s not really a hero or a villain, just a force of nature with multiple personality disorder. The onset of his massive powers screwed with the kid’s mind. He’s been going to his imaginary high school inside his mind for a little over the last two decades. All these constructs we’re fighting are his pretend schoolmates, the stereotypes and clichés of every drama and sitcom imaginable.

“Any idea how to stop him?”

Wendy says, “The Olympians wore him down by beating these things until he passed out from the exertion, but that took hours and they had the whole team.”

I dig around in my mind for an idea. Reinforcements aren’t anywhere around. Actually come to think of it, they’re just a phone call away. “I’ll keep his friends busy. Try to get outside the range of all this interference and have whoever’s in the chair saturate this area. Maybe they can stop him.”

“Alright,” she says and rockets upwards a thousand feet. I drop down to the ground and fire my remaining tear gas grenades at the real person. My plasma mini-gun spits out energy, but what must be Larry’s glee club appears to shield him, while the cloud of gas starts to envelope him.

They’re singing a pretty good cover of the Bee Gee’s
Staying Alive
interrupted by the barking of the mini-gun. Larry starts coughing and his constructs imitate him, but the cloud is dissipated by a wall of force that knocks my suit back twenty feet and I land in a heap. His burst knocked my shields down to sixty percent and he wasn’t even really aiming at me.

Yeah, I didn’t think it was going to be that easy either. Finally, I get a good look at Larry. He’s got at least four bugs on him! Maybe he’ll burn out even faster. I crank up my cannon and augment it with my force blaster. Larry counters with sending his school’s marching band into my burst. The glee club switches to
Oh When the Saints Come Marching In
. I feel like the universe is screwing with me.

Something smashes into my back. I spin and find the track team. It was the shot putter and it hurt. My jetpack is damaged … can’t risk going airborne.

Dodge the discus. Watch out for the javelin. Keep an eye on the mini-gun’s energy levels … half depleted.

I try to cut through to the source of the problem, but he keeps generating a never ending wall of constructs in front of him. If they were real, I’d have mowed down an entire graduating class at this point. They just keep coming! Can’t seem to make any headway either.

Where the hell is Wendy? I could use some effin’ help here.

Thirty seconds later, my main weapon is out of juice and I’m left with just the blaster in the helmet and my force field encased sledgehammer. That’s not good. On some level, Larry senses it too. The Glee club starts a rendition of Hammer’s
U Can’t Touch This
.