Villain (Book 1): Villain 1

by Laddusaw, Cole

Finally, after thirty-six hours of work, coated in industrial grease and drenched in sweat, the henchmen loaded the final plane onto The Buzzard’s ship. Despite the physically draining aspect of the work, it actually went much smoother than they had all expected. None of Hans’ drones had shown up, much to Terry’s dismay as he had been looking forward to using The Buzzard’s turrets, and they weren’t spotted by any of the local law enforcement. It was as if Hans’ attention was glued elsewhere and he had completely forgotten that The Buzzard even existed. The only problem was that now with all of the planes loaded, they had nowhere to take them.

  It was an hour after sunset and The Buzzard had gathered his most trusted henchmen to discuss possible locations to sail the fleet. They were holed up in the bridge of the shipping vessel when Harold, Glenn, and Terry suddenly burst in.

  “We know where you can take the fleet!” Terry exclaimed excitedly.

  His boyish glee was met with stern glares from The Buzzard and his equally grizzled henchmen. Glenn stepped ahead of Terry to save him from further embarrassment.

  “Deimos messaged us,” Glenn stated. “He struck an agreement with Redbeard’s son. They are heading to an island near Baja California in order to set up a lair. He said you and your henchmen should come.”

  A smile crept across The Buzzard’s face.

  “Redbeard…” he said softly. “That is a name I have missed.”

  He turned to his henchmen with purpose.

  “Fire up the engines. Rally the men. We embark at nineteen hundred hours.”

  His henchmen nodded and immediately rushed to their tasks. The Buzzard clapped Glenn on the shoulder.

  “You boys have done good. Thank you for all your hard work.”

  The three henchmen were shocked. They had truly believed The Buzzard’s mouth was incapable of forming any kind words. At a loss for what to say, they simply nodded and grunted in response. The Buzzard continued staring at them. The unease of being in his presence crept back as his stern gaze tore into them.

  After what felt like an eternity, he said, “So are you going to give me those coordinates or are we going to keep staring at each other like a couple of lusty school girls?”

  “Right, sorry,” Glenn muttered.

  Glenn fumbled with his phone and opened up the text Deimos had sent them of the island’s coordinates. The Buzzard took the phone in a huff and walked away. The three henchmen turned to each other, still covered in grease and sweat, and laughed wearily.

  “You bastards better not wake me up for the rest of the night,” Harold said.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Glenn replied.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  On the other side of the city, at Crymson Tech headquarters, Hans was locked away in his penthouse nearing the end of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Earlier that day, he had a call with his military contact in Japan who was more than a little upset about the assassination of one of his generals. When the accusations started flying, Hans forced himself to forward the call to his lawyers out of fear of what he might say in the heat of the moment. According to his lawyers, the remainder of the call didn’t last long as the contact declared he would soon be announcing a public investigation into Crymson Tech.

  As if that wasn’t enough, Hans was informed by his PR team that an online movement had begun which appeared to exonerate Deimos and vilify Hans. It didn’t take long for the stream of emails, phone calls, and texts to start pouring in from various lawyers, congressmen, and police officers asking what they should say in response to the allegations. Hans knew they would play dumb since he was paying them, but everyone had their limits. If enough evidence came out against him, they would have no choice but to cave and accept reality.

  Putting the final nail in the coffin of Hans’ rotten day was the notification he received informing him that The Twins’ GPS trackers had been disabled. The only way that could be possible was if the trackers were either removed from The Twins’ shoulder blades or if the girls had died. It was at that moment that Hans knew his supervillain program had failed. If his most advanced and well-tested subjects could not succeed in taking down Deimos, none of them would.

  That evening, Hans found himself overlooking Los Rebeldes through the gaping unrepaired hole in his penthouse window. The urge to respond to the call of the void wandered into Hans’ mind like an old friend greeting him at a bar. To simply take one big step over the ledge and never again have to face his responsibilities and failures was an attractive thought. Hans took a small step forward and his heart raced. He looked down at his trembling hand and noticed the robotic one laying steady, unaffected by his heart rate.

  Several thoughts seemed to race into Hans’ mind at once. For some reason, the first was about what Deimos had said to him several nights ago. He had mentioned something about Hans getting a CAT scan. For the life of him, Hans couldn’t remember why Deimos had said that, or if he had followed up on Deimos’ suggestion and gotten one. Why did he feel like it was important for him to remember?

  Deimos had come back into his life only a few days prior, but he could only see those days through a fog, as if years had passed. There was something about Deimos’ presence that seemed to be affecting his memories. They had begun to slip away from him, ever so steadily, like a scrambling dog on a water slide.

  Before his mind allowed him to focus on that thought, he immediately snapped to another one—Doctor Isaac. How much time and money had he wasted on what ultimately became that sniveling scientist’s failed experiments? Wasn’t it Doctor Isaac’s idea in the first place to manipulate a person’s genetic code to create supervillains? Or was it first an obsession that formed in Hans’ own brain that night on the warehouse rooftop thirty years ago? Maybe it was another moment entirely that Hans couldn’t seem to remember.

  Hans shook his head. Sweat spilled down his brow and onto his pale, clammy face. He shivered even though his head felt burning hot. More thoughts piled into his brain without any order to their intrusion.

  What led me to this lifelong quest for control?

  Deimos must die.

  Is there anyone in my company I can trust?

  I need to finish what I started. Kill all villains.

  Why can’t I be at peace with what I already have?

  People cannot be trusted. Doctor Isaac cannot be trusted.

  Why is my hand shaking so terribly?

  Hans focused on his steady robotic hand. Deimos had defeated his genetically modified villains with nothing more than scrap metal and cheap robotics. No matter what was thrown at him, Deimos always came out on top.

  A wave of sickly understanding washed over Hans. There is no perfect form of a human, their fleshy bodies could only be pushed so far. There were always limits in people, but machines… Even the sky isn’t the limit for what machines are capable of. If he wanted to accomplish his goal, his singular obsessive goal of defeating Deimos, then he would have to beat him at his own game.

  Hans rushed to his desk and caught himself dialing the number for Doctor Isaac’s lab.

  Force of habit, he thought, not even convincing himself.

  He canceled the call and tried again. The next time his fingers struck the correct combination of numbers for the chief scientist of his robotics department. This was the same scientist responsible for his drone armada, his robotic hand, and a secret project that Hans had initially turned down due to its insane cost. Now on the precipice of insanity himself, Hans thought the project didn’t seem so crazy.

  Hans felt foolish for not going down this path in the first place. Doctor Isaac was never capable of delivering him the results he needed. He had someone under his employ that he should have listened to from the beginning. Someone whose work in nuclear engineering was decades ahead of any first-world nation due to the constant supply of illegal uranium and plutonium that Hans supplied him. Yes, Doctor Rudolph Vinterb
erg would know what to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Buzzard’s shipping vessel arrived at the island several hours before Redbeard’s Revenge. At a distance, the island appeared to be a small strip of green and brown, hardly noticeable in the endless dark blue ocean. However, as they drew nearer it began to take shape. Over two miles in length and one mile in width at its widest, the oval-shaped island looked like a snapshot from a prehuman era. A tall encircling of rock and ash stood proudly in the center, marking the location where a volcano had erupted only a few decades prior, creating this new fertile land.

  The Buzzard anchored his shipping vessel as close as he could without grounding it and relieved his henchmen for the time being. They needed to wait for Captain C’s ship to arrive and had a few hours to kill. Harold, Glenn, and Terry, who frankly could not spend another minute on the sulfur-stinking ship, took a dinghy to the island along with three of The Buzzard’s henchmen to scope out their new digs.

  The island was undeniably beautiful. Its nutrient rich volcanic soil was covered in diverse plant life and already home to several species of birds. Beyond a stretch of young trees, the henchmen were able to see a rocky peak which led into the crater of the now dormant volcano.

  They didn’t venture too far from the beach, figuring it wasn’t their place to fully traverse the island without the accompaniment of their villains. The henchmen instead opted to swim in the clear blue waters to pass the time. Terry, Glenn, and Harold were amused to discover that The Buzzard’s henchmen had feathered undergarments beneath their outfits. The dedication these henchmen had to their jobs was inspiring, but the three aging men didn’t think they would ever be dedicated enough to wear Deimos branded underwear.

  Terry was the only one who didn’t join in on the fun, and instead remained on the beach with Hells Belts. He had fixed it on the ride over and was bubbling with excitement to show it to Deimos. Terrified of anything happening to it before his boss’ arrival, Terry tucked the device under his shirt to protect it from any rogue sea spray.

  The few hours they spent on the beach was a much-needed respite for the sore henchmen, and they bonded over tales of days long past. Glenn even discovered that one of the other henchmen who they rode over with, a thirty-eight-year-old woman named Carly Bretton, was the daughter of the hiring manager who had sent the falcon for Glenn’s interview with The Buzzard back in the early ‘80s.

  “What a small world,” Glenn had said, smiling, while sneaking a peek at Carly’s ankles.

  Glenn was an ankle man, a small offshoot of the ‘boobs or ass’ men. It is a niche kink in which those that partake in it do not normally admit to their desires, not out of embarrassment, but because even if they did nobody would believe them.

  As the six henchmen laid back on the beach, soaking in the sun’s rays, a loud rumbling emanated from far in the distance. Mistaking it for the volcano erupting, Terry sprang to his feet and bolted for their docked boat.

  “Get up! Let’s go, let’s go!” He cried from the boat at the five laughing henchmen. “Why aren’t you moving?”

  Glenn pointed to the horizon and Terry turned. He saw a fast-approaching orange glow heading straight for the island. After a few moments passed, it became clear to him the orange glow was where the rumbling was originating from and that it was unmistakably the sound of a rocket.

  “Is that Captain C’s ship?” Terry asked.

  “You know villains,” Carly mused. “Always needing to arrive in style.”

  The rumbling stopped as Redbeard’s Revenge drew nearer. They had cut the engines and coasted the rest of the way to dock next to The Buzzard’s shipping vessel. When the sails were raised, Deimos was the first on deck to power up Indiana Drones. He was well-rested and itching to tell his henchmen about their adventure.

  Siren, Eve, and Professor Paws joined Deimos on the quick flight to the anchored shipping vessel, while Captain C insisted he would take a boat over. Though he stated it was more in character for him to arrive by boat, Deimos could tell by the way he was eyeing the flying craft that Captain C was likely afraid of flying.

  When they arrived, The Buzzard informed Deimos that his henchmen were already on the island. Annoyed, Deimos ushered The Buzzard and everyone else back onto Indiana Drones and they all flew to the island with Captain C coasting beneath them in his boat.

  As soon as Indiana Drones touched down on the beach, Professor Paws leapt off and bolted toward Harold. He vigorously licked Harold’s toes in exaltation, much to Harold’s disapproval. Deimos wished he could do the same. Not lick Harold’s toes, obviously, but he did wish to embrace his dear friends. Unfortunately, after spending four hours cleaning sand out of his robotic legs from his last adventure, he opted to remain on Indiana Drones to save himself the hassle of doing it again. He instead waved the henchmen over to him.

  After the men hopped onto Indiana Drones and had properly greeted their boss, Deimos noticed Terry was reluctant to make eye contact with him.

  “What’s going on, man?” Deimos asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Terry lied.

  “Terry is butt-hurt you went on a pirate ship without us,” Glenn proclaimed.

  “Am not!” Terry pouted like a hurt pre-teen.

  Harold clapped him on the shoulder.

  “It’s okay, man. It’s not like he was off on some grand pirate adventure or anything.”

  Now it was Deimos’ turn to avoid eye contact. Terry looked at him, heartbroken.

  “You weren’t, were you boss?” he asked weakly.

  Deimos sighed. He told them everything that had happened since he last saw them several mornings prior—that he, Siren, and Eve were fired upon by Captain C’s ship, that they started a treasure hunt and were attacked by a lone samurai, that they went on to infiltrate a mob’s museum party, and finally that they were ambushed by two new villains sent by Hans to kill them.

  By the time Deimos was finished, Terry looked like he was ready to burst into tears.

  “Oh,” he muttered. “That sounds really fun, boss.” He hurriedly removed Hells Belts from around his waist and handed it to Deimos. “Here, I fixed this for you. Didn’t even get to use it.”

  Terry turned and ran across the beach toward the tree line, hastily wiping tears away from his eyes.

  “He’ll be fine,” Harold grunted. “If I’m being honest, I’m glad we weren’t there. I thought we had it rough moving those planes, but that sounds exhausting.”

  “It was a lot,” Deimos admitted. “But Siren and Eve did most of the work.”

  The Buzzard cleared his throat and glared up at Deimos from the beach.

  “Well? We’re all here, oh mighty Deimos. What now?”

  Deimos looked down on The Buzzard and Captain C, both joined by a handful of their own henchmen. Eve and Siren also looked up to Deimos expectantly along with Harold, Glenn, and Professor Paws.

  Deimos ran his hand nervously through his hair.

  “Well, uh, I was hoping we could all discuss that together,” Deimos replied. “Eve, would you mind telling everyone what you told me? You’re better at this than I am.”

  Eve stepped forward.

  “Public opinion on Deimos and subsequently all villains is more positive than it’s been in decades. My social media campaign has generated an insane amount of traffic and increased interest in the Villain Movement as a whole. Google searches for villains have shot up in the last two days and we’ve invested a bit of money to make sure the top results for you four are all positive articles spreading the truth about your cause.

  “On the other end of things, Crymson Tech is being flooded with lawsuits and investigations. As of last night, the Japanese government ended its partnership with Crymson Tech and is launching a full-blown investigation into their genetic research program.”

  “That all sounds like good news to me,” The Buzzard growled.
“So what the hell do we need to hide out here for?”

  “We don’t know who Hans still has on his payroll,” Siren chimed in. “If we were to return now, we are subjecting ourselves to arrest with an unfair trial. That’s only if we’re lucky. There’s no saying what might happen if Hans were to send another hit squad of genetically altered assassins after us.”

  “Which brings me to my next point,” Deimos stated. “We can’t keep those women who attacked us locked away in the broom closet forever. It’s not safe for us, and inhumane to them. We need a secure base of operations. We need a lair.”

  The Buzzard looked around incredulously.

  “And this is where you were planning on doing it? There’s nothing here.”

  “Exactly!” Deimos exclaimed. “On this beach, I build my lair!”

  He looked down ecstatically at them. The group made no reaction.

  “Would it kill you guys to humor me every once and awhile? Well, anyway, yes. This is where we’re staying for now.”

  “Not to be shooting this great plan of yours down or anything,” The Buzzard replied, “but how do you plan on getting all the resources to build this lair of yours? There’s nothing here but a few trees and rocks.”

  “Ye of little faith, dear Buzzard. Let me handle the specifics. In a few weeks, this island will be unrecognizable. A month tops.”

  The Buzzard waved Deimos off. He grumbled but didn’t further his point. Instead, he turned to better greet Captain C, whose father he was once very close with. They walked down the beach to catch up, their henchmen following closely behind them.

  “Do you really think you can build a lair in a month?” Siren asked when the others were out of earshot.

  “Only one way to find out,” Deimos replied, smiling.

  “I have one stipulation,” Eve interjected.

  “Whoa, big word! What is it?” Deimos asked.

  “I have been thinking a lot about who I want to be as a villain, and I want to start practicing what I preach. So, you can’t destroy the natural environment of the island with your lair. That means no cutting down trees and no hurting animals. I also want a few henchmen to help me start a self-sustaining farm in the open land I saw on the north side of the island.”