by Drew Hayes
Agent Quantum fiddled with the controller for a few moments before gamely wiggling the joystick and opening fire on an empty field the player was flying over. The digital bullets rained down upon the meager stalks of wheat, ignored by the background art. He’d figured out the controls; that was a step in the right direction.
“Here’s my concern.” Donald waited until they were beginning to fire; having something else to occupy their attention made it less awkward to speak so frankly. “Our teams don’t really get along. We can skate over the why, but it’s true. I’m fully in support of you learning from someone more experienced and improving. I’m less sure that we’re the right people to teach you. Aside from barely being past rookie level ourselves, why not pick someone your team doesn’t have friction with?”
“Because they don’t see those teams as their rivals.” To Donald’s surprise, Agent Quantum was unflustered by the point; he’d come in ready to address it. “You are right, our people have friction. What you might not realize is that part of why my team doesn’t get along with yours is because of respect. You’re succeeding at the job we can’t seem to grasp correctly, you’re beloved by people overall, and you consistently manage to power through every challenge presented. Whatever issues my team has, they’re exceptional at threat evaluation. The New Science Sentries see your people as their main competition, which means they’ve acknowledged you to be capable. How many other teams at our level do you think they hold in such esteem?”
As he was talking, Agent Quantum’s cursor grew faster, identifying the more dangerous targets and opening fire. It hadn’t taken him long to grasp the game, despite his apparent lack of familiarity. Then again, it was a point-and-press-a-button situation. Donald hadn’t exactly started him on Soul Grinder.
“Because they don’t like us, they’ll be willing to learn from us?” Donald really needed Ren as a consultant for this ego-based nonsense.
“Because they want to surpass you, they’ll pay attention to everything you say and do. Both to learn, and to search for weaknesses.” Agent Quantum managed to look sheepish at that, though just barely. “Not the greatest of motivations, but if they learn to be better superheroes in the process, I can’t be picky about what gets them to take the lessons.”
Toggling through the meager supply of weapons offered so early in the game, Donald rained three grenades down on the spot where the level boss would spawn. They landed just as the large man with a comically oversized gun loaded, blasting him past the first two combat phases and right into the finale, where he turned red and blinking. Donald could do this part essentially from memory—he’d long ago mastered the early level patterns. It was in the later stages, where randomization came into play, that progress would slow down.
“Although I’m still not sure it’s the best idea, I’ll run it by my team. If they say yes, we can try it for a night or two. If they say no, then it’s a no. Much as I’d like to help, I can’t have them feeling unsteady out in the field. We’re not as strong as you. We have to stay focused to be on top of our game, and the people out there calling for help deserve that from us.” Donald noted that Agent Quantum’s cursor was now darting around the screen, taking out the minions as they spawned, leaving Donald free to finish off the boss. “Should that happen, I’ll try to point you toward some other good candidates. Ren’s been here since the last confluence. He knows pretty much everyone on the new teams, and he’s sparred against most of them, too.”
“Entirely reasonable,” Agent Quantum said. “Given how things have gone between our people so far, I appreciate that you’re even willing to entertain the idea.”
With an on-screen explosion, the level boss died, spewing coins and parts that Donald would be using to start customizing the jetpack. He’d need to get some stabilizers and a few safety features before feeling confident enough to pull this thing into the real world. If it failed midair, Cyber Geek might be in for quite the tumble.
As the level transition screen appeared, Donald finally looked away from the TV. “I’m impressed you were able to come make the request. In your shoes, I doubt I’d have even thought to shadow another team, and I’m sure asking this couldn’t have been easy.”
“In the interest of directing credit where it’s due, the truth is I didn’t have the idea. Your friend Tori suggested it. She holds you in clear respect, and the more I see, the more I understand why.” Agent Quantum set the controller aside, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Cyber Geek. I know you’ve got training, as do I, so I’ll leave you to think things over. If you have more questions or want to talk, I’ll be around.”
The two shook hands, and on impulse, one made a snap decision. “When we’re out of the masks, you can call me Donald. Wouldn’t hurt to be on more friendly terms.”
“In that case, please feel free to call me Austin.”
It was a nice moment, one that Donald dearly hoped he’d be able to communicate well when trying to sell this idea to his team. All things considered, it would probably be easier to take down another monster unleashed by Nexus than to sell them on this notion.
Then again, since when did he think being a superhero meant taking the easy path?
Lozora limped her way into the cave, annoyed for the first time by just how out of the way this lair was. It was necessary—one didn’t take on the Alliance of Heroic Champions in broad daylight until everything was good and ready—but running here after eating that cab driver was still quite a hike. Especially injured.
He came from the back, clad in a pure black suit. In the beginning, he’d had no name, nor any need for one. Recently, however, he’d begun to go by Wendel Worthington. Recruiting more broadly meant his business dealings had been forced into the mundane world, where huge stacks of money didn’t buy the same kind of “no questions asked” sales that their market offered. There was no way around it: they needed a figurehead, a name to give the pawns. Lozora’s was off the table; she couldn’t risk revealing herself and losing whatever nebulous protection Captain Bullshit had provided. Since her employer’s true moniker was a secret even from her, Wendel had been born. There was something else to it, too, a joke or barb she didn’t quite get but could still tell was there; however, on the hierarchy of mysteries about her boss, inside jokes were clearly at the bottom.
Given the polished appearance tonight, he was probably heading out for another meeting. Lozora had no idea what this part of the plan was, nor was she especially concerned. She’d signed on with a legend specifically because she didn’t want to sweat all the details. After years of being cooped up, Lozora was ready for a little fun. Perhaps she’d start by picking easier targets for the next recruiting session.
“Issues?” He didn’t sound worried, more like he was prepared to be angered by her disappointment. Those dark eyes scanned down to her leg, which was almost back to holding normal pressure, though not quite.
“Turns out Toon lives up to the reputation. He and Vaudeville were a no, but most of the others signed on. You provide the tech and the timeline when the capes will be busy, they’ll pounce. We’re getting up there in numbers. No major players, but plenty of small fish mad they missed the Ridge City Riots.”
“Strap a bomb to a roach, it explodes just as well as a bomb strapped to a person. What matters most is the bomb, the equipment they’re given. I can make them capable enough to be distractions. That’s all they need to manage.” The man going by Wendel Worthington absorbed Lozora’s news slowly. “I presume from the injury that Vaudeville and Toon are both still alive.”
Lozora turned as vicious a glare as she dared onto Wendel. “The pair famous for being impossible to hurt or kill, just like I warned you before the approach? Yeah, they’re doing just fine. I didn’t give any details, though, so even if they wanted to cause trouble, they wouldn’t know where to start.”
A loose end. One he might tie up, if time permitted. So many years of planning, finally given a chance to bear fruit—he couldn’t risk the unseen varia
bles causing complications. The world was filled with so-called “unkillable” beings, but in his experience, that really meant they just hadn’t encountered someone truly dedicated to wiping them out. In a world like theirs, teeming with all manner of meta-elements, unknown magics, and fluid laws of science, nothing could be truly permanent or invulnerable. There was always a weakness, always a tactic—he believed that down to the darkest parts of his bones. It was just a matter of whether or not one had the will and the wiles to triumph.
As for Lozora, she was tense, waiting to see if failure meant he’d try to kill her. While he felt certain the task was achievable, it was also a poor use of resources. Lozora had far more connections to the villains of her generation than he could ever hope to achieve. Aside from which, she’d been powerful enough to warrant top-level security at Rookstone. A fight he could win, and a fight he could win without injury or loss, were two different matters. Especially in the heart of his lair, with so many inventions within easy smashing range.
“In the rear, you’ll find a chair with a large metal circle around it, emitting a soft red light. Strap in. It can accelerate your healing.”
“I heal fine on my own, thanks.” Lozora appeared to relax without actually easing up, but the gesture itself was the point.
He didn’t begrudge her resistance. This time, it really was a machine designed to heal; that didn’t mean he hadn’t also dummied up a few “medical” inventions that actually killed the user. It was a favorite trick of his—pretend to offer an olive branch and strike while their guard was down.
“Then take some time to rest. Recruitment is nearly done. I do need you to pick up an order in a few days, when it’s ready. Something special, and specific. Will you be recovered in time?”
Lozora stared, and he stared back: she wondering what answer would trigger an attempt at murder, he pondering whether she could continue to be helpful. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just needed a good meal, which my driver was kind enough to provide.” A long, purple tongue flicked out, giving a peek at the rows of sharp teeth normally hidden behind her lips. Intentional or not, it was a not-so-subtle reminder that he wasn’t the only monster in the lair.
“Very well, then. I’ll have the details ready when it’s time for pickup. Until then, focus on recovery. I can have some food ordered.”
“I prefer to hunt my own.” There was a predatory gleam in her eye, one the masquerading Wendel paid no mind to. She could entertain whatever fantasies she liked about tearing into his flesh: one bite is all it would take for her to realize the mistake.
He hoped she held off until after the next job, at least. It would be very inconvenient to kill her with so much work still left to do.
Chapter 54
When Tori had first come to the new guild—what she’d begun to think of as Villain Island—the enterprise had seemed excessive. That sentiment had steadily faded the more she’d actually used the facilities, and as Tori headed down the hall to meet with Lance, she was thankful they were doing this far from Ridge City. There was something to be said for not being directly under an enemy’s nose, even if doing things that way was more daring.
Everyone else was already waiting, as they’d likely come on their own schedules rather than catch a ride with Ivan, who was off at a clandestine gathering of his own. He played his mundane, normal role to a hilt, and that included driving almost aggressively within the law. They’d gotten more than a few honking horns and shaking fists; she’d have loved to see some of the fearsome drivers actually try to make good on the foul words they spat.
Hurrying in, Tori grabbed an open seat at the table. This meeting room was like most of the others scattered around the guild: built to hold up to eight human-sized bodies, or a small number of the more unwieldy members. There were larger options, but for a four-person group, there was no need to take up the more spacious resources, if Lance could even have booked them. After months of being shut down, and with a fancy new lair to play in, the guild was more alive than Tori had previously seen it, not that she’d had much of a sample size before the Ridge City Riots. Still, better make the most of the room while they had it.
“I know, I know, I’m late. Rode over with Pseudonym. You can catch me up on the highlights, and I’ll get details from Beverly on what I missed. We don’t have to restart.”
“Not a problem. We’re mostly just going over the pitch as a whole right now.” Lance was as cheery as ever; his personable nature always seemed a strange fit for a man working in a guild of villainy.
Across the table, Warren boasted a less congenial expression, but Tori didn’t take it personally, especially when he offered a wave of greeting. She’d come to realize that was just Warren’s way, in the same sense that she and Ivan had their brusque moments. When shit hit the fan, he’d sided with their team and the guild over his own mentor; looking constantly grumpy didn’t matter worth a damn compared to his steadfast loyalty.
“Since the guild reopened, Warren and I have been picking up odd jobs here and there—mostly surveillance and support, given our powers,” Lance continued. That fit. With his swarms of insects to command and see through the eyes of, Lance would be one of the most capable non-technological surveillance options among the guild’s members. Most people in their field knew to sweep for devices called bugs; far fewer cared about the actual namesake. As for Warren, the ability to create magic in the form of drawn symbols meant he had a large amount of versatility. Plus, while he’d turned out to be a traitor, Balaam hadn’t done a poor job training his apprentice.
“It’s been a good way to get our feet back under us, plus pick up some spare cash. But recently, a job came around that we’re interested in working. The issue is the teams can’t be smaller than four people. I’ll tell you up front: it’s nothing too involved on our part. In theory, we could go the whole night without so much as a blip of action.”
“Or...” Beverly let the word hang, an implied question demanding to be spoken.
Lance didn’t shy away. “Or we might end up in a fight, though that’s not ideal. We don’t actually know much about what this job is, only that they need a fair amount of people running security. We’d be one of the outermost teams. Our primary job would be to keep passersby from going down the wrong street. If a cape shows up, we call in the alert so the real workers have time to finish or flee.”
Interesting. Minimal risk, presumably enough pay to warrant the effort, if Lance and Warren were roping them in, and technically, they didn’t even need to commit any crimes. When it came to tasks that had to be handled in costume, working as a lookout was about as legal an option as the guild presented.
“Why the four-person teams?” Tori asked. The more she understood, the better an idea she’d have of whether or not this was a good fit.
“Coverage.” Warren looked slightly more interested than he had at the start—quite a change, by his standards. “We need to be able to hold a sizable area. With Lance’s bugs and just me, it would be tight. Having you both along, plus potentially some tech to crack into security cameras, makes it a lot more manageable.”
“Possible, but I’d need the timeframe and general locale. Getting into a single closed system, like the museum, is one thing, but if we’re covering a big area, that would entail multiple buildings with their own securities.” A rogue idea struck her, even as she was listing the difficulties. “Although, if it’s anywhere residential, I could build something to hop on the wi-fi signals of all those home cameras that show the feed online. Those are much less protected.”
From her side, Beverly tapped her nails along the table. “I take it you want me to be eyes in the sky?”
To Tori’s surprise, Lance shook his head. “Nothing as overt as a dragon flying around. We’d be leaning on you if anything physical came up. I’ve picked up some new bugs, and Warren’s got his own tricks, but neither of us can fight like Bahamut. If we need to substantially dissuade someone from heading in a direction, you’re our strongest bet.”
It was almost comical to hear that, given Lance’s sizable muscles and Beverly’s comparatively slender form. But he was right. When she turned into that green dragon, Beverly became big, tough, and downright deadly. One good thing about being in a guild of villains: none of them held prideful delusions about their strength. Everyone in this room knew they weren’t the best, or the most powerful. It was an impossible fantasy, given the councilors who ruled this organization. Some were wounded by that fact, others grew from it. Judging by the team he was building, Lance appeared to be in the latter camp.
“Hate to be pushy, but the timeframe is a big one for me. I’ve got more than a few eyes in my direction, not to mention some Tori commitments that I can’t let Hephaestus overtake. It would be suspicious.” Also, Tori was fairly sure if she tried to double-book a Starscouts meeting, Ivan would have other ideas.
“I figured,” Lance replied. “That’s why I called the meeting today, as a matter of fact; an operational date was only determined last night. It’s supposed to go down this weekend, on Saturday evening. We’ll be in a modest city named Ebnerville. The operation won’t be near civilians, but since we’re a far perimeter team, we might be—I’ll look into that for you, Tori. Our job is to watch for intruders and capes, keeping them away at all costs.”
What Tori found most fascinating about the situation were all the elements they weren’t being given. Limited information, tightly controlled area, weight put largely on keeping anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there away. There were probably a great many reasons the guild could have for setting up these sorts of situations, yet there was only one that Tori had already born witness to. A code enforcement—which was a nice way to say brutal execution—would demand that sort of security. Based on how the one she’d seen had gone, it would be over in no time, and they could be on their way. That had been Ivan, though. No telling who was running this one, or who they were up against. Definitely still some risk, even if it was risk that could be mitigated.
