Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chp.1
Chp.2
Chp.3
Chp.4
Chp.5
Chp.6
Chp.7
Chp.8
Chp.9
Chp.10
Chp.11
Chp.12
Chp.13
Chp.14
Chp.15
Chp.16
Chp.17
Chp.18
Chp.19
Chp.20
Chp.21
Chp.22
Chp.23
Chp.24
Chp.25
Chp.26
Chp.27
Chp.28
Chp.29
Chp.30
Chp.31
Chp.32
Chp.33
Chp.34
Epilogue
Authors Note
Super Sales
On
Super Heroes
By William D. Arand
Copyright © 2017 William D. Arand
Cover design © 2017 William D. Arand
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews - without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2017 William D. Arand
All rights reserved.
Dedicated:
To my wife, Kristin, who encouraged me in all things.
To my son, Harrison, who now lets me sleep, but wants to help me “type type” on my keyboard.
To my family, who always told me I could write a book if I sat down and tried. I’ve now written five.
Special Thanks to:
Niusha Gutierrez
Caleb Shortcliffe
Austin Youngblood
Thanks to my Beta Readers:
Alston Sleet
Cory Grimes
Dominic Harney
Ezben Gerardo
Florian Cadwe
Keegan Hall
Robert Magdaleno
Tim Burago
I appreciate you reading through an unedited nightmare
Chapter 1 - Not So Black Market -
Felix couldn’t keep himself still. He practically gyrated with nervous energy. He jumped at every noise in the alley. From a mouse scratching at cardboard to a streetlamp that started to buzz.
This is a bad idea. Stupid idea. Trying to buy something from the black market.
Well. The not-so-black market anymore. What exactly do you call a black market when a supervillain runs your city?
He very nearly shouted in alarm when the garage door behind him opened abruptly, the chain rattling as it moved.
A black man in a dark brown trench coat was waiting for him on the inside.
He looked about Felix’s age.
Well, maybe not. He’s a bit younger? Maybe like five years younger? Call it twenty-five?
He looked like any number of people you’d pass on the street and never give a second glance to. He might just barely hit six foot, or so Felix thought, measuring him against the frame of the garage door.
The man’s posture was relaxed, his hands in his pockets, watching Felix with a partial frown.
“You’re a little early there, Felix,” the man said in a smooth baritone. “It is Felix, right?”
“Yeah! Felix, Felix Campbell. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.
The man stared back at him, his eyes flicking from Felix’s hand and back to his face.
“I, uh, I came early with the van,” he said, gesturing to the unmarked vehicle next to him.”
“So I noticed.”
“I didn’t want to be late. I can’t stand being late. Though I think coming early didn’t do me any favors for my nerves, sorry,” Felix apologized lamely.
The man smirked at that and then chuckled softly. “Yeah, I hear that. I wouldn’t want to stand around in this alley much longer either. Snidely’s come prowlin’ often enough. Come on.”
“Snidely?” Felix asked, stepping quickly to catch up to the man.
Felix was by no means a short man, but nor was he tall. Sitting at an unimpressive five foot eight, he was as average as you could be.
The clack of the man’s polished shoes echoed dully. Realizing how immaculately dressed the man was, Felix felt like a slob in his work uniform, minus nametag.
“Snidely? Snidely Whiplash? You know, villain? Great ‘stache? Dorights and Snidelys? Never mind.” The man shook his head.
“Sorry. I don’t watch TV. What channel is it on?” Felix asked. Then he shook his head. He had to get this done and get it done right. He needed this. “Actually. Forget that. What do I call you?”
“You don’t,” said the man, stepping up to a rectangular wooden crate. On top of that crate was a black box and a sheet of white paper. “I call you.”
Felix took a breath and then pulled out a wad of money from his pocket. This deal had cost him two thousand. What little he had left after that was in his hand in a roll, amounting up to three hundred dollars.
All that he had till his next paycheck.
“Then maybe you can call me when you get similar merchandise in the future.”
Damn, that sounded good! At least I think it did.
The man tilted his head to one side and then smiled widely at Felix, showing a set of bright white teeth. Taking the money from Felix’s hand, he nodded his head, thumbing back the twenties.
“Well alright. I can do that. Call me Marcus, it’ll do for today,” said the man now known as Marcus, putting the wad of money in his pocket. “As for the market, no buyers for this stuff. You’re already paying basement price of what it cost to get it here and out of where it was with only a slim margin for us. So I’ll keep you in mind, but no promises.”
Marcus turned and picked up the black box and the paper, then handed both to Felix.
“Ownership papers and one owner’s box. We call ‘em Pits. Go ahead and stick your finger in that hole,” Marcus explained, holding out the box.
“Uh, shouldn’t the seller put their finger in first for these?” Felix had heard about them. Apparently, Pits were well regarded for transactions among supers, since they had a magical element to them.
“Not for this purchase. For future purchases, we can just use this Pit again. Now go ahead and get that paw up here…”
Felix lifted his index finger and slipped it into the hole.
He felt the sting before he even thought about what was going to happen.
“All done. You’ll feel that tomorrow,” Marcus said, shaking his head with a grin. Turning his head, Marcus whistled at a forklift that was sitting dormant in the side of the warehouse.
Felix flinched as the vehicle came to life. He hadn’t even noticed it. In fact, he hadn’t even looked around at what he’d walked into.
Way to go, idiot.
Marcus pointed to the van. “You go hop in and wait. We’ll get this loaded up in a second.” The man hesitated for a second, then continued, “You know, I’m glad someone’s buying this. We were considering tossing it into the river, but… that never works out.”
“I should think not. It wouldn’t be as bad as, say, lead, but it’d eventually create some problems with the water,” Felix said, nodding his head.
A big shipment of bismuth really could cause problems. I mean, how do you explain buying a shipment of heavy metal that then ends up in a river?
Marcus looked at him in a strange way at that and then laughed with a wave of his hand. “See you later, Felix. You’re a strange cat.”
Felix wasn’t quite sure what to make of that exchange, but he waved back.
“Later, Marcus.”
Felix hurried off back to the panel van and got in. The forklift operator went about his business and had Felix loaded up in under a minute.
There was a smack on the rear door, and then the garage started sliding shut a second later.
Felix adjusted his mirror, catching a look at himself in the process. He looked pale. Pale as ever. His gray eyes stared back at him. Listless.
Even his hair looked defeated. Limp. It hung on him in its way, the brown strands overly worked with hair gel.
He looked incredibly tired for a thirty-year-old.
We’re changing that. Starting with this. We can do this. We saved, we scrimped, and now we’ll succeed.
Popping the radio back on, Felix pulled out into the alleyway.
“Tonight, we have a guest speaker from our new leader’s cabinet. Please wel—”
Felix cursed as he jammed the brakes. A superhero in a costume stumbled out in front of him from a side alley.
The van clipped the caped crusader and sent him spinning.
At the same instant, another costumed weirdo appeared. That person pounced on the hero as they stumbled back from the van and began plunging a knife into their chest over and over.
Felix kept his eyes straight on the road and hit the gas again.
“Didn’t see anything. Didn’t see a super being murdered. Nope, not a thing,” Felix said, staring straight ahead.
The closest Felix had been to crime was watching the loan shark across the street from his work operate.
Even that felt too close for comfort sometimes.
Ever since the supers in charge of the city’s defense had lost, it’d become open season. Anyone not in line with the new power structure was free game.
Which was pretty much every and any superhero out there. There’d been a mass exodus and only a few had remained. And of those who remained, the vast majority were poor slobs who thought that they could tough it out till relief came.
In fact, a lot of people said the relief had come at the same time as the original attack.
Which made sense; no one else ever came.
Felix doubted anyone else would come at this point.
For people like Felix, the everyday man, life hadn’t changed much from the turnover.
Vice laws, like slavery, prostitution, and drugs, were legalized. They were now given government protection, and were expected to meet the same or similar regulations that other markets had.
And let’s not forget taxes.
Taxes were of course levied on all those vices. Being legal, the price had rapidly inflated, crashed, then flatlined. The city raked in the cash and started immediately spending it back on city programs.
Like drug rehabilitation centers.
Then Skipper, the villain now in charge, had promptly lowered income taxes. Since there were no federal taxes anymore, that meant people overall were paying significantly less, unless they were partaking of the new legal frivolities.
Which set off another round of vice spending and purchasing in general.
Suddenly, not only were the heroes not receiving support, but if anything, they were being asked to leave.
Or hunted and killed.
“—to be here, Mike! I’d like to start off by reminding everyone we have a ten-grand reward for anyone with information leading to the capture of a hero. Five grand for a kill with the body as proof.”
Or hunted, apparently.
The audience cheered at that reminder. Felix had heard something about that but had brushed it off as rumors. Apparently, it wasn’t.
“As our government is only here in this city, we need to secure ourselves. The longer we have threats inside, the longer it takes us to begin to branch outward,” said the guest.
“I heard that one of the first cities we’ll be taking is—”
“Now, now, Mike. You know I can’t talk about that. Though speaking of targets, I’d like to warn our listeners out there: Violence towards the other humanoid races, such as Dwarves, Beastkin, or anything other than a Human, won’t be tolerated. It’ll be punished. Severely.”
“No arguments here! Glad to hear justice will be applied evenly.
“I heard the old federal government isn’t even bothering us anymore. That they’ve left the recapture of our city to the Guild of Heroes. Is that true?”
“It is, it is. Skipper is regularly on patrol and watching for anything. So far, they haven’t retaken an inch.”
Tired of the political whitewash he was sure was going on, Felix flipped the radio to an eighties station and drove onward.
Shutting the door with a thump, Felix looked around the spacious garage. Much like every other area in this house, it had the feel of his family. It was their house, after all. He was merely living here as the clock ticked down on them being proclaimed dead. Death in absentia.
They were at year seven of ten.
His aunt and uncle had simply up and left one night when Felix was twenty-three. Give or take a few months.
Leaving him alone in a home that had been paid off completely. Their bank accounts, stock, and everything else was being managed by a group of lawyers through a trust.
He had rights in the trust to insure they weren’t spending money frivolously, but he had no rights to the money itself.
Sighing, Felix moved around to the rear of the van.
“This’ll change everything. Once I get this squared away,” Felix said to himself, opening the rear doors. “Then I can quit. Quit that hellhole of a job and just… just do whatever. Yeah. Whatever.
“Sit around, pick my nose, and watch game shows all day.”
Felix grabbed the edge of the rectangular box and heaved once. It slid out by a foot.
It was at this moment that he realized he had no way to get it from the bed of the van to the garage floor.
A quick hunt of the garage got him the motorcycle ramp his uncle owned.
Wedging it against the van, and getting it in a stable place, he heaved on the crate again.
Groaning, it slid free of the van, hit the motorcycle ramp, and slid down it.
Wood cracked and popped when it hit the floor. It managed to come to a stop the same moment it came off the ramp.
Felix sighed and closed the van doors and put the ramp back.
Getting a hold of the latch at the top and bottom of the box, he took a slow breath, then unbolted them at the same time and tipped the lid backwards.
Looking inside eagerly, Felix felt dumbstruck.
Instead of a load of bismuth, which he’d hoped to turn into gold with his own superpower, there was a corpse.
The face looked like it’d gone through a factory furnace. Like something out of those old slasher films his uncle loved.
There were no eyes. Dry, empty sockets gaped at him. There were no ears, but instead two nubs of flesh no bigger than the tip of his pinky. Two gaping holes sat in the middle of the ruined face, right where a nose would be. Should have been. No lips remained to cover the broken and shattered teeth.
It was a real horror show.
“No more,” mumbled the not-corpse almost like a mantra. “No more, no more, no more, no more, no more.”
Felix looked down at the ruined husk of what had once been a human being and pressed his hands to his face. This wasn’t something his brain could comprehend right now.
“No more,” the body whispered.
His brain slowly lurched into gear and a thought sent him for the passenger door. Popping open the door, he grabbed the paperwork and started to read over it.
Paperwork was on the rise as of late since the taxmen had to collect taxes. And taxes needed accurate paperwork.
National ID cards, too.
Finally, he fou
nd the listed items sold. No mention of bismuth came up at all.
Only the purchase of a slave and one slave control box. One superheroine, to be specific. One previously owned by the government.
That’s a woman? Holy crap.
Felix felt his thoughts starting to spiral rapidly out of control. Hunching over, he put his head between his knees and took some deep breaths. Right when the world stopped spinning crazily, he stood back up and breathed more regularly.
Setting the paperwork down back next to the Pit, he considered his options.
His money was already spent and gone; even though he’d clearly received the wrong package, it wouldn’t be good for him to whine about it. They’d just laugh at him and ask him what the problem was. He’d accepted the bill of goods as it was. Who was to say this wasn’t exactly what he wanted?
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. I wanted to transmute bismuth to gold. What if she can do more than that? What if she can make gold? Or find gold?
This might actually be even better than he’d expected. Provided that he could fix her.
That is, if he could keep her alive long enough to fix her.
A super with a decent power set would be worth a lot more than gold. Especially in the current environment where slaves were legal.
He started to think of any number of things supers could do and how he could profit from it.
Closing the passenger door, he walked back to the crate.
“Can you, er, can you hear me?” he asked her.
There was no response. Her chest rose and fell in labored breaths. Now that he looked at her body, he found the rest of it as horribly disfigured as her face. It looked like her fingers had been removed. Her breasts. Most of her skin. She was a real mess.
Could he even fix her?
His face twisted into a frown as he tilted his head to consider her.
He hadn’t used up his power today. It wasn’t as if he had any plans to use it before he went to sleep, either. In fact, if he was up past midnight when his power set reset, he could try again.
Solidifying his decision, he concentrated on her. She was his, he owned her, she was his property.
Felix was actually a superhero or villain candidate. He could modify any item he owned. Make it new, change it into another substance, make it better or worse quality.
Super Sales on Super Heroes Page 1
