Amazingly, after punching and breathing down his throat for far longer than should have been possible, he started to breathe again. The devil tattoos under his suit then crawled out from under his sleeves before starting to operate on his wounds like tiny minions.
“He won’t thank you for saving his life,” a voice spoke behind me.
My voice.
“Other Gary,” I muttered, turning around.
“Can we stop calling me that? That’s even more stupid than Merciless: The Supervillain without Mercy™. I mean, why even say the trademark?”
Other Gary was almost—but not quite—identical to me. While I was a man in my early thirties, Other Gary looked like he was approaching fifty or just past it. His cloak was snow white rather than jet black, and I saw numerous scars across his hands from where they’d been burned by the magic I wielded effortlessly. Most notably, his expression was one of immense loss, and his eyes lacked any of the vitality I saw in the mirror. They were the eyes of a soul that had been put through the ringer so many times it was stretched to the breaking point. Losing your universe will do that.
“I’m not really in the joking mood with my friend near death,” I said, staring at the man. “Shouldn’t you be dead? I know you survived my killing you, but I’d like to know how you did that.”
“As you are the Champion of Death, so am I the Champion of Life,” Other Gary said. “I can regenerate from a subatomic particle.”
That would make things difficult. “Funny, for the Champion of Life, you kill a shit ton of people.”
“Everyone I murder will be restored back to life,” Other Gary said, his voice almost a hiss. “You, of all people, should understand why I’m doing this.”
“Murdering billions to harvest their life-energy? Allying with a Nazi? No, actually, I’m kind of lost,” I said, shaking my head. “I know you lost your universe, but it’s back! It’s right around us!”
“This is not my universe,” Other Gary said, his voice cold. “Superheroes are constantly riddled with angst and lose as often as they win. The world is dirty, cynical, and full of ultraviolence. Women dress like whores—”
“Which is a plus. All we need is the men to dress sexier, and we’ve got a party for all sides,” I said.
Other Gary’s mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. “The simple fact is, I need to create a pocket universe where my earth will be restored. Where Ultragod, my Mandy, the Nightwalker, and all the others I’ve lost will be by my side. It justifies everything.”
“Bullshit,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You murdered Ultragod. I have to kill you for that.”
It was hard to hate yourself when you had such high self-esteem, but Other Gary was really helping me overcome that.
“I don’t want to kill you. Thankfully, I don’t have to.” Other Gary pulled out a weird psychedelic pulsating disc that produced a rainbow of colors. Don’t look at the disc.”
Of course, I looked at the disc. “What?”
“No!” Cloak shouted. “It’s the Mad Hypnotist’s Hypno-Coin!”
“You could have . . . “ I said as my voice started to slow down. “Said that before . . . I looked.”
Chapter Three
WHERE WE SKIP OVER MY IMPRISONMENT
The next few days (weeks? months? I wasn’t sure) were kind of blurry. They were like a dream I couldn’t wake up from. In fact, it was during my dreams that I felt most alive. They were when I could remember who I was. In my sleep, I saw myself as Merciless: The Supervillain without Mercy™, with all my amazing friends. I robbed banks, fought the president, and gave a finger to the man. By day? I was just a prisoner. Albeit one in a gilded cage.
“We Built This City on Rock and Roll” woke me up from my latest slumber. It was, in my opinion, the worst song ever written. It was a great band chiding corporate sellouts while being corporate sellouts. That was the only kind of music that played in Undertown, though. It didn’t have to be music recorded by the actual artists too, as I’d listened to the entirety of Bob Dylan’s discography done by forgotten boy bands of the nineties. Truly, my captor was a genius at psychologically breaking down his captives. And that was the just the music.
“Gosh darn it,” I muttered, having been conditioned not to swear. “I was having such a delightfully bad dream. I was engaged in all manner of felonious behavior.”
God, I hated talking like that.
Reaching over to turn off the eighties radio alarm clock on my desk, I took stock of my surroundings. I was in my bed with a copy of the hardback edition of Cthulhu Armageddon resting on my chest. I’d read the book over a dozen times since my imprisonment and was still fascinated by it even as I cursed the fact that I hadn’t picked up the sequel before the end of the world.
Undertown was a curious kind of prison, designed to resemble an Everytown, America of various decades mixed together. You couldn’t swear, steal, eat red meat, or engage in anything resembling mayhem, but you could have all the sex you wanted and read scary books. Not that Mandy and I didn’t rebel against our prison’s strictures every chance we could.
Oh, yes, Mandy was trapped down here with me. I didn’t know how my captor, who I sometimes remembered was Other Gary, had managed to grab her. I think he thought he was doing me a favor, not realizing I would have preferred my wife to be free no matter how miserable I would be without her.
I slid out of bed, walked to the shower, and got dressed. I wore a tweed sweater, bow tie, thick horn-rimmed glasses, and a pair of slacks. Most of the time, I didn’t even know I was a prisoner but just believed the weird story that we were survivors of a nuclear apocalypse. Today, at least, I was aware I was a prisoner. Indeed, just a month ago, I’d woken from my fugue state screaming “WE’RE TRAPPED IN THE MATRIX!” and “THIS IS A PRISON WE’RE MIND-CONTROLLED TO ENJOY!” I also threw in, “SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!”, which didn’t seem to apply to the situation but felt appropriate.
Whistling the Oscar Meyer Wiener song once dressed, I headed down to the kitchen where my beautiful wife Mandy was waiting. She was dressed in a beautiful polka dot dress with a set of pearls around her neck and her hair styled in a retro-1950s manner that I despised but couldn’t quite articulate any criticisms of. Our kitchen was wonderfully well furnished, which made it a shame there was a burning charcoal briquette in the microwave. Presumably, that was breakfast. I vaguely recalled being the one who made food in our house before we were prisoners, but Undertown enforced gender roles. So, we ate crap food every day.
Swell!
“Hello, Spouse!” I said, trying to suppress my enforced cheer and failing. “Something smells wonderful and not at all like burnt flesh.”
“Hello, Spouse!” Mandy said with a big forced smile. “That’s the hand of one of our robotic neighbors that I cut off last evening.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Now why would you do something like that?”
“Because I truly hate this place,” Mandy said, smiling with her fangs protruding. “The only real people who live in here are as brainwashed as we are, and I can tell the difference by the warm red fluid in their bodies.”
I pointed at her and gave a mirthful chuckle. “It sounds like someone needs another round of rehabilitation. It’s been, what, six weeks since our last one?”
“Yes,” Mandy said, putting a hand to the side of her face and laughing. “We doused the punch bowl with vampire blood and everyone had a huge orgy before wrecking the place. Wasn’t that fun?”
“Oh yes,” I said, chuckling. “I seem to recall trying to blow the entire town up. Boy, did the guards object to that!”
“Do you ever wonder if we’re in a secret prison facility of some nefarious power that watched too many episodes of Patrick McGoohan’s classic sci-fi drama The Prisoner?” Mandy asked, walking over to hug me.
I hugged her back. “Not at all. I would, however, have killed myself if not for you by now.”
Mandy was silent for a moment. “Me too.”
; We held each other for over a minute.
“Do you want to report each other to the authorities?” Mandy asked.
“No,” I said, glad I could resist the brainwashing. The guards were getting better at keeping us under control. I think I understood their plan. The longer we lived as our fake selves, even if it was against our will, the more we became like the people they wanted us to be, even if it was only a diluted form.
I used to make constant references to things like Pleasantville, Mad Men, Saints Row IV, and other topics that had no meaning to me anymore. I was devoid of pop culture references, and Mandy was the only one who seemed to remember anything of the outside world. She’d been particularly horrified I’d forgotten something called The Star Wars. I didn’t know why. I mean, I didn’t even like science fiction.
“Husband?” Mandy said, pulling away. “Would you be a dear and get the morning paper?”
“Certainly,” I said, trying not to smile but failing. “After all, service to your spouse is secondary only to service to the state.”
I suppressed an urge to smash my head against the wall until I was dead. Mandy gave my arm one more squeeze then walked to the fridge to get the number for the pizza place.
“I don’t suppose you can hear me now,” Cloak said in my mind.
I responded back telepathically, “Maybe I can. Maybe I’ve learned not to articulate my responses because every room has cameras and listening devices.”
“Good,” Cloak said. “Because our last escape attempt was a complete disaster.”
“It was a complete disaster, Voice in My Head,” I said, telepathically back. “Because we’re still here and I’m still hearing things.”
Cloak sighed, which was impressive since he didn’t have any lungs. “My name is Lancel Warren, I’m the ghost of the Nightwalker—”
“Who?” I asked.
“Never mind,” Cloak said. “You’ve been brainwashed not to be able to hear me for the most part because they couldn’t remove me from you. Other Gary—”
“Other Gary?”
Cloak continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “–is running this prison because he doesn’t want you threatening his rule.”
“What’s going on outside?” I whispered, opening the door to get the paper.
Beyond the door lay a picturesque circular neighborhood with row after row of identical houses. Robotic eye-drones flew around, constantly scanning the place, while an enormous lamp served as our sun.
“I have no idea,” Cloak admitted. “I’ve been with you the entire time.”
“Ah,” I muttered. “I don’t suppose you have any awesome superpowers that could help me and my wife bust out of this place.”
“I’m sorry, but the place is heavily warded.” Cloak sighed. “Magic is impossible to manifest here except the most minute kind—such as my being able to talk to you.”
“Great,” I said, picking up the paper and reading the headline: NOTHING HAPPENED YESTERDAY. “So, you’re an officially useless distraction.”
“I’ll forgive that, Gary, as I’ve forgiven all your other insults over these past few years.”
“Years?” I asked, speaking a little too loud.
“Yes,” Cloak admitted, his voice sounding grave. “You have been imprisoned here for the better part of five years.”
A sense of overwhelming despair washed over me as I dropped the morning paper. Five years? Dear God. In a moment, I had a flash of the people I’d left behind. I knew their names. Gabrielle. Cindy. Diabloman (I should find out his real name.) Kerri. Lisa. They were my family.
My supervillain crime family.
I was a supervillain. It was like a dam breaking in my mind, giving me at last knowledge of who I was and where I came from. Other Gary had managed to brainwash me repeatedly and was tearing away my life one year at a time. I remembered killing President Omega and stopping the apocalypse they said had destroyed the world. But were my friends still alive? Was my family? What had Other Gary been doing while I was in his zoo?
“I can’t answer that,” Cloak said. “I wish I could.”
“You said five years?” I grunted, no longer caring if the guards could hear me. “Have we even gotten close to escaping?” I tried to remember more details about my prison, but the guards had taken those away too. I’d escaped from the most secure prison in the universe six years ago, a prison that had been built into the side of the Society of Superheroes’ headquarters on the moon, no less, but it had nothing on this place. This place stole who you were.
“No,” Cloak said. “We haven’t even gotten close. Mandy? Yes. You? No. The person who designed this prison knows you better than anyone else on Earth.”
I was about ready to let forth a scream of desperation, one that would result in the guards coming to drag me away again when the entire left corner of Undertown exploded. It sent a shockwave through the rest of the town, causing hundreds of windows to shatter. I was thrown onto my back by the explosion, my ears ringing worse than when I’d last attended a Blind Guardian concert.
“Ow,” I muttered, feeling like I’d just been hit with a car. “Did you do that?”
“I most certainly did not,” Cloak replied. “It appears the town is under attack.”
“Thank God,” I said, getting up to go see what was happening.
Mandy, meanwhile, appeared right beside me. Although magic was blocked inside Undertown, she was still able to use most of her powers. I suspected that was one reason she’d gotten closer to escaping than I ever had. The other reason being that my wife was just plain smarter than I was.
“Gary, what’s going on?” Mandy said, looking out past me at the rising smoke from where a huge hole had been blown in our town’s cavernous walls.
“It appears the town is under attack,” I said, climbing to my feet.
“Thank the Goddess,” Mandy said, smiling. “Hopefully, whoever it is will kill us all.”
“PRISONERS IN IMMINENT DANGER OF ESCAPE,” a mechanical voice called up from the top of our house’s stairs. “ENACTING EMERGENCY SUPPRESSION PROTOCOLS.”
“That’s not good,” I said, turning around.
“You think?” Mandy growled.
Turning around, I looked up to see the figure of our next-door neighbor Esmeralda Crane. She was a tall, black-haired Indian woman, with a more muscular frame than normal. Her normal 1950s attire was replaced with a silver bodysuit which seemed to merge with her skin. Large metal claws the size of steak knives jutted out of her fingertips. Her eyes were a bright shade of silver with a complete absence of humanity.
I remembered, now, Esmeralda had been one of our allies for our frequent escape attempts. She’d come with a pre-fabricated history of being an actress who had offended Other Gary. Esmeralda had a beautifully touching story about having lost her spouse, Lisa, in the brainwashing camps. In retrospect, I probably should have realized her backstory was wholesale ripped from V for Vendetta.
“You didn’t notice our neighbor was a cyborg?” I said, looking up. “Tsk tsk tsk. You’re slipping, Mandy.”
“You didn’t notice either!” Mandy snapped.
Esmeralda proceeded to breathe out a torrent of white-hot fire, which both me and Mandy barely managed to dodge. Her because of superhuman vampire speed, and me because of seeing something ridiculous like that coming.
“THE FIRST CITIZEN OF FALCONCREST CITY COMMANDS YOUR COMPLIANCE!” Esmeralda said, her voice shrill and robotic like System Shock’s Shodan. Wait, I remembered Shodan! My internal pop culture library was coming back!
“Priorities, Gary,” Cloak said.
“Hush you!” I snapped back.
Mandy and Esmeralda then charged at each other, grappling in the air as they levitated before starting to smash through walls. Unfortunately, I was still powerless and way out of my league.
Dammit!
Fueled by my anger, I ran to the side door to the garage, grabbed a shovel, and returned to attack Esmeralda. By then, Mandy had already dispatc
hed the brainwashed killing machine. Mandy was holding the robotic organism’s head as it dripped a combination of motor oil and gore. If there had ever been an Esmeralda Crane, then she’d died in the surgeries to transform her into the killing machine before us.
“Oh,” I said, looking down. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
Mandy, covered in blood, looked quite pleased with herself. “You can have the next one, Spouse.”
I smirked. That was when the entire front of our house exploded and a four-ton combination of tank and car smashed through it. It was painted jet black and covered in scorch marks from where the robotic guards had blasted it repeatedly. It was a magnificent specimen of next-generation future-tech. I saw a stylized N on the hubcaps.
“What. The. Fuck.” I stared at it.
“The Nightcar!” Cloak said, positively gleeful. “Someone’s removed all of the red paint and Merciless logos!”
“Who dares!” I said, having a supervillainous moment as more of my brainwashing fell away.
The top of the vehicle then slid back, revealing a Japanese American woman in a black hooded cloak in the driver’s seat. I recognized her in an instant. It was Amanda Douglas, a.k.a. Nightgirl. a.k.a. the second Nightwalker, a.k.a. Mercilass, among other nicknames I’d given her. It struck me as strange that she was the person who’d come to rescue us. We’d never been that close and had been enemies at several points. Maybe everyone else was dead.
Even so, seeing her was like a splash of cold water in the face, and I felt all the lingering controls in my mind fade away. Even if I was killed in the next few moments, I would be forever grateful to her for shaking my mind free from its prison.
“You’ve actually shaken yourself free thirty-two times already,” Cloak said. “Just saying.”
“Way to kill the mood, Cloak,” I replied.
Amanda looked panicked as she gazed between us. “OK, this is going to sound crazy, but you are—”
“Merciless and Nighthuntress,” Mandy said, nodding. “You’re Nightgirl. We know.”
The Supervillainy Saga (Book 4): The Science of Supervillainy Page 3
