Villain (Book 1): Villain 1

by Laddusaw, Cole

  “Is that another pun name?” Siren asked.

  “Yeah. Remember the band Whitesnake?”

  “Of course, but that seems pretty obscure of a reference.”

  The henchmen grumbled in response to Siren’s unappreciative tone. She may have been their superior, but naming the devices was always left to Deimos and the henchmen. It was a tradition that began when Deimos first started his venture and they took criticism rather poorly. Deimos held up his hand to calm them.

  “Look,” he said, “it is a weather machine that only makes snow. We were drunk. Whitesnake came on in the car. The name is fine. It stays.”

  Siren stared up at the tower for a moment, pondering.

  “Why not call it Van Hailen?” she asked eventually.

  The four men all stopped what they were doing and stared menacingly at Siren. Deimos put down his tablet and cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, Van Halen but with hail? Why isn’t that good?” Siren challenged.

  “Well for one it makes fucking snow,” Harold snapped.

  Deimos turned and shushed Harold. He gave him the bottle of scotch, which Harold quickly polished off.

  “Oh come on, it’s close enough!” Siren insisted. “You used to always let the henchmen name all the cool stuff. Let me name something.”

  She pointed to an adjacent wall where a half-built vehicle was propped up. It had an egg-shaped, metallic platform surrounded by four protruding fan blades. Nearby, incomplete microthrusters were scattered about among hundreds of feet of coiled wire and tubing.

  “How about that thing? That looks new.”

  “Oh yeah, I totally forgot,” Deimos said. “We started building a hovercraft type thing but halfway through we realized none of us knew how to fly.”

  “Yeah, and that guy who’s truck we stole-” Glenn began before Deimos coughed and elbowed him. “Ahem. The guy who’s truck we borrowed?” Glenn continued with an approving nod from Deimos. “He said he had a pilot’s license but he had to go home to get it. You know what, that was six hours ago. I’m beginning to think that was a lie.”

  Deimos finished inputting his code into the tablet and tossed it aside.

  “No matter. The Whitesnow is now open for business!” he announced. “Tell you what, Ciara, how would you like to do the honors?”

  Siren smiled and kissed Deimos on the cheek.

  She whispered in his ear, “What’s my name?”

  “Sorry. Would you like to do the honors, Siren?”

  “I would love to, Deimos,” Siren said with a wink.

  She stepped purposefully toward the tower, looked it up and down, then held up her hands in confusion. Deimos pointed to a red switch located directly in front of her. She nodded and pulled it.

  Immediately, lights lining the exterior of the tower began to blink sequentially. A thick cord leading away from the base of the machine, and not so subtly wired to a power line down the street, began to buzz with electricity. Whirring gears from within the tower began to churn and grew louder into a jarring grind. Suddenly, a bright light burst upward from the tower’s tip like an angel’s ejaculate and dissipated into the sky. The machine then petered out into a pleasant buzz.

  The group stood staring up at the sky, expectantly.

  “Is that it?” Harold asked.

  “It might take a minute,” Deimos replied.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the early ‘90s there was uncertainty on what to do with the city of Los Rebeldes. Most of the governing body, city council members, school administrators, mailmen, taxi drivers, police officers, and sanitation workers had been connected to the Villain Movement in one way or another. With all of them killed or run out of town after the villain purge, Los Rebeldes was only a semi-functioning city bound to fall into chaos.

  One man took it upon himself to shoulder the responsibility of keeping the city from failing. His name was Hans Goenn. Hans was an up-and-coming biotech magnate who had recently secured his spot on the top of Forbes’ “One Hundred Wealthiest People” list by developing, and subsequently copyrighting, a cure for multiple sclerosis. His new company, Crymson Tech, was on a fast track to becoming one of the most successful companies of all time, producing everything from advanced telecommunications to genetically engineered pets. Considering there was no one more qualified, or willing, the United States government all but handed Hans the key to the city.

  He began by building his company’s headquarters in Downtown Los Rebeldes. It was a monolithic spiral of black and white steel that stood menacingly over the vacant skyscrapers which littered the city at that time. His factories and research facilities soon dominated the Industrial District and provided thousands of jobs to the area, greatly boosting the local economy and filling the empty office buildings with eager workers. His charitable works and donations to the city brought in new potential citizens from all over the world. Upon arrival, these immigrants were offered incredible rates to live in the new Crymson Tech condominiums. These low-rent condos were of course located in prime real estate near the soon to be completed Crymson Center where Hans’ recently purchased basketball team, the Los Rebeldes Breakers, would debut.

  It wasn’t long until Crymson Tech put the city back on the map while simultaneously expanding itself into a global company, all of which only furthered Hans Goenn’s wealth and power equally so. However, like all powerful people, Hans had a secret. Except his was less of the ‘laundering money’ type of secret and more of the ‘insane conspiracy to conquer all of humankind.’

  On one particular Sunday in March of 2019, Hans was in his immaculate penthouse office overlooking the city. He was a tall man with a powerful build and a bit of a gut. His ebony-black hair was slicked back without a single strand out of place. Even though he never had plastic surgery, Hans didn’t have a wrinkle on him, which for a man in his early sixties was a rare sight.

  Hans was positioned in his favorite chair turned toward the window that took up the entire back wall of his office. He seemed to be calculating behind his dark eyes as he scanned building to building. His eyes quickly darted to the right as one of his company’s blimps drifted by his view. It blinked, “Finishing God’s Work… To Build A Better You!” in bright, red letters.

  Hans sighed contentedly and reached back for a cup of coffee that sat steaming on his desk. As he was about to take a sip, a buzzing sound emitted from a glass ball hanging in his office.

  “You have a visitor,” the glass ball said in a pleasant woman’s voice. “Leslie Williams, a programmer from level two. She does not have a meeting scheduled for this time. Would you like me to send her away?”

  Hans sipped from his coffee and let out an annoyed sigh.

  “No, it’s fine. Let her in.”

  The magnificent gilded ivory doors to Hans’ office swung automatically inward, revealing a young brunette woman who was out of breath and clearly terrified to be there. The woman cautiously stepped out from the marble hallway and into Hans’ intricately tiled office, careful not to trip on the long datasheet she had crumpled in her arms.

  Hans, who was facing away from her, forced a smile before turning to greet his lowly employee. When his chair swung around, he appeared to be a completely different person than he was the moment before. His rough, calculating eyes were now soft and kindly squinting above a dazzling smile.

  “Leslie!” Hans boomed cheerfully. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from my favorite little data miner?”

  Leslie shuffled further into the room, her head down and eyes fixated on the floor. Hans tapped his gloved hand expectantly on the metal armrest of his chair. The taps echoed throughout the room, giving Leslie even more anxiety.

  “Well,” Leslie said, still catching her breath, “I have some readings to report, sir. They’re from that list of energy signatures you are having me monitor
.”

  Hans immediately stopped tapping and his stern demeanor returned.

  “Go on,” he said gruffly.

  Leslie shuffled through the long printout, struggling to find the entry she had brought up to show Hans. Finally, she located it and breathed in sharply.

  “Energy signature DE-89 appeared in Los Rebeldes sector 6-G approximately ten minutes ago,” she blurted in one breath.

  Hans issued no response. His eyes glazed over and he appeared to look straight through the spot where Leslie was standing.

  After a long pause Leslie nervously whispered, “You told me to come directly to you whenever anything on that list popped up.”

  Shaking his head, Hans’ kind smile returned to his face and he looked back up at Leslie.

  “Yes! You were right to bring this directly to me,” Hans said. “Could you be a dear and send a copy of these coordinates to Doctor Isaac for me?”

  “Of course! Right away!” Leslie said, happy for the opportunity to leave.

  As soon as the doors closed behind her, Hans’ smile dropped back into a scowl. He leaned to his right where a glowing number pad shone through the glass on his desk. He dialed four numbers into it. Immediately, a man’s voice issued from the glass ball hanging from the ceiling.

  “Yes, boss?” the man’s voice said.

  “Isaac, a girl is coming down to you with some coordinates,” Hans said. “I need you to wake up our friend again.”

  “But sir, it’s daylight! He only got in a few hours ago. He isn’t going to be happy,” Doctor Isaac responded fearfully.

  “This is important. I’ve found him.”

  Doctor Isaac gasped, “Do you really think he’s still alive?”

  “There’s nobody else it could be. Wake the subject. Now!”

  “Right away, sir.”

  The sound of a mechanical door hissing issued from the glass ball, followed by a loud, guttural roar.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One hour had passed since Whitesnow was activated, yet still no snow had fallen. Terry, Glenn, and Harold were all strewn about the base of the buzzing weather machine, bored into submission. Terry was browsing the Internet on his phone while Glenn stroked Professor Paws, who had fallen asleep on his chest. Harold was next to them, facedown in a pile of wires and dirt, snoring loudly.

  Siren and Deimos were a few feet away surveying the half-built flying craft. Siren stroked her chin, deep in thought, while Deimos watched her with adoration.

  “I’ve got it!” Siren proclaimed suddenly. “Duran-Dirigible!”

  Deimos chuckled.

  “Very clever, sweetheart, but not quite there yet. It was good that you used both Duran’s from the band’s name, and you were right to manipulate the second Duran over the former. However, much like your Van Hailen, the name doesn’t quite describe the invention. A dirigible is an aircraft that garners its lift by using lighter than air gases, whereas this clearly intended on using thrusters and fan blades.”

  Siren kicked the side of the craft in defeat.

  “Damn!” she proclaimed. “Puns are hard.”

  “Yeah, and the worst part is having to explain the joke every time,” Deimos admitted.

  Terry’s phone finally died and he threw it down in frustration.

  “Ugh! I’m so bored!” he shouted. “When is it going to snow?”

  Glenn lifted Professor Paws off his chest and placed him gently on Harold’s back.

  “I’m going to have to side with Terry on this one,” he said. “My hangover is killing me, and I’m pretty sure Harold already died from his.”

  Harold grumbled inaudibly from the dirt. Professor Paws immediately jumped off his back and began furiously licking Harold’s ears and face.

  “Alas,” Glenn smirked, “we will always remember dear Harold as the old fart who couldn’t hold his liquor.”

  “I held your mom!” Harold shouted back, turning to face Glenn. He immediately grew solemn and turned away. “In my arms… Eighteen years ago… As she died. Oh God. I’m so sorry, Glenn.”

  “It was her time, man. We were just happy you could be there,” Glenn replied.

  “Would you two shut up?” Terry interjected. “Look!”

  Terry pointed upwards and their eyes followed. Above them, slowly falling without a cloud in sight, were thousands of tiny snowflakes. They gently danced in the wind and descended around the awe-struck group. The volume of snow increased by the second and they were soon in a surreal winter wonderland.

  “Holy crap. It actually worked!” Glenn proclaimed.

  “Somebody flip me over,” Harold cried out, “I gotta see this!”

  Terry hurried over and carelessly kicked Harold onto his back. Harold looked up in amazement and his mouth formed into a wide-open smile. He blinked away snowflakes as they fell into his eyes.

  “Deimos, you really outdid yourself this time,” Harold choked.

  “Good things take time, my friends,” Deimos replied with a wink.

  He dropped his crutches and wrapped his arms around Siren for support. They stood there, holding each other for a moment, watching the snow fall.

  After a few quiet moments, Siren whispered, “So, what finally changed your mind?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was what you said yesterday about how I’m not happy at my job. Maybe it was the guys reminding me how fun it is to actually create something.”

  “Maybe it was that half-gallon of scotch you drank?” Siren mused.

  Deimos chuckled, “Well, whatever it was, it reminded me that not everything I make will put you or our friends in danger. So maybe that’s something.”

  Siren turned and grabbed Deimos’ face, kissing him passionately.

  “I missed this part of you,” she said lovingly.

  Nearby, Terry was having a hard time enjoying the snow. He had noticed a drone approach soon after the snow began to fall and it had been hovering high above the lot ever since. He didn’t want to ruin the moment but felt compelled.

  “Hey, do you all-” Terry began, but was immediately interrupted by ominous, earth-shattering thuds from off in the distance.

  “What the hell is that noise?” Glenn blurted.

  The thuds grew louder as the source of the sound rapidly approached. Several streets down, car alarms began to blare in rolling succession toward the lot. Soon, the thuds were so intense that the group could hear the street cracking with each unworldly impact.

  “It’s coming right at us!” Siren shouted.

  Deimos pushed Siren down behind the weather machine as the wall nearest to them was blasted apart, showering them in debris. A chunk of concrete slammed into Deimos’ right leg brace, breaking it and sending him sprawling backward.

  Through the dust and rubble crashed an immense, armored man. He stood at over eight feet tall and was bulging with muscles that would make a bodybuilder switch professions. The man was covered from neck to toe in body armor that appeared to be thousands of tightly wound black cords, which shimmered like scales. On his head was a helmet covered in the same material with three sharp, metallic horns.

  The giant man stepped forward into the lot and looked around. He raised his arms forward, both of which were strapped with a mechanical contortion of gears and pipes. In an orgy of clicks and grinding gears, the contortions formed into two rotary miniguns.

  Before the group had time to recover, the giant man pointed his miniguns at the three henchmen and Professor Paws. In one swift movement, Siren leapt from behind the weather machine and turned on Hells Belts. She planted herself directly in front of the giant man right as he began firing.

  The rounds exploded out of the miniguns and were deflected midair by the belt’s magnetic field. They ricocheted into the walls and dirt surrounding them. Deimos attempted to stand, but his broken leg brace prevented him. He banged on it a
ngrily.

  “Dammit!” he shouted. “Get out of here, you guys!”

  The henchmen were unable to hear him over the gunfire, but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Their henchmen training kicked in and they immediately sprang into action. Terry tossed Glenn and Harold a pair of Electric Ave Pew-Pews from the crate nearby and they began returning fire. However, the electrified rounds simply fizzled out against the giant man’s body armor.

  After twenty seconds of this onslaught, which when being shot at can seem like an eternity, the giant man’s guns clicked empty. He growled, annoyed, and turned around to grab a broad section of the wall. He lifted the heavy concrete over his head effortlessly.

  “Shit,” Siren muttered. “Sorry about this!”

  Siren switched on her choker and began singing a series of vocal notes. She hit the resonant tone she wanted and held onto it, singing louder and louder as her choker amplified the effect. Professor Paws whimpered and ran into a corner of the lot. Deimos and the henchmen screamed out in pain. They covered their ears and distanced themselves from Siren as best as they could.

  The giant man dropped the concrete slab and roared as the guns strapped to his forearms began to vibrate. He tore at them frantically as their vibrating increased, slowly breaking his arms. Behind Siren, the weather machine had begun vibrating as well. The snow production increased rapidly and soon they were surrounded by a miniature blizzard localized in the dirt lot.

  “Ciara!” Deimos screamed out. “You have to stop!”

  But his cries were to no avail. Through her singing and the ever-growing blizzard, Siren couldn’t hear anything.

  Unable to remove his guns, the giant man began pounding down on Siren with his fists. However, the miniguns attached to his wrists slammed into the magnetic field, preventing him from touching her. Despite this, he continued to swing and roar with such ferocity that Siren almost stopped her singing out of fear from the sheer sight of him. Spit flung from the giant man’s snarling mouth. Gears and metal components from his miniguns began flinging off in every direction, but their bindings held strong onto his forearms and he was still unable to penetrate Hells Belts’ barrier.