Rise of the Supervillains

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  The old man looked full of life, excited by the mere thought of what he had accomplished.

  “So you engineered a chemical that grants you the ability to change chemicals? How the hell did you do that?”

  The excitement drained from his body. “I wish I knew. It was an accident that caused it. A mixture of chemicals and pharmaceuticals that ended up granting me the gift of matter manipulation on a chemical level. A stupid spill on my skin and I became Doctor Chem!”

  Andre glanced at Vulcão with skepticism, then back at the doctor. “So you just stumbled across this?”

  “The project I was working on dealt with matter manipulation, but until that moment, I had been completely unsuccessful. Even after my success, I tried to replicate the process, but never could. Two more doses, besides what I had spilled on myself. That's all my original concoction had created.”

  The old man stared off into space as he continued to speak, as if he could see his thoughts appearing in front of him. “I always dreamed of the day when I would meet the right woman and give her one of the two remaining vials. We could become a chemically enhanced duo that would be unstoppable. Have a kid. Give him the last dose. Be a happy little super family.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “But I ended up in here instead.”

  “Aw, man,” Vulcão interjected, “and if things had turned out different, with that kind of power, you could have been a Dominus. Ruling a corner of the world.”

  “Yes, thank you. That thought may cross my mind every time I'm forced to listen to my wonderful cell mate snore or rub himself or perform any of his thousands of disgusting habits.”

  Vulcão just chuckled.

  Andre leaned forward, pondering everything Doctor Chem had just told him. “So even though your powers aren't... natural, Negaton's ability still works on you?”

  The doctor threw his hands into the air and said, “Who knows how all of this works? The scientific community was never given the time or the money to study these powers. Not before the war happened and Plasmax blew up. Thank god I built my lair in South America.”

  “You had a lair?” Andre said, smiling.

  “Technically speaking, I still have a lair. It's hidden deep in the Hive now, of course. But I'm sure they didn't find it.”

  “How so? The Hive is everywhere.”

  “Ah, a little gift from an old friend. Have you ever heard of Visionmancer?”

  “Of course. The supervillain that made everyone think he had erased New York City and threatened to do the same to Chicago if he wasn't given ten million dollars.”

  “Exactly,” the doctor said. “That was a lot of money back then.”

  “But it was just an illusion, right?”

  “New York never went anywhere. He just made the world unable to see it. His power was... immense.”

  “How come he never-”

  “Died in a car accident. Can't use illusions to get out of that one. But that's beside the point. I built my base of operations at the base of Christ the Redeemer in Brazil.”

  “What? Why? Before Paramount destroyed it, that place was a tourist destination.”

  “Exactly. Which made it a perfect place to get lost in the crowd and sneak away into the illusion that Visionmancer put in place. There's a huge underground lair, full of my old equipment, and nobody even knows. The entrance is invisible.”

  “Wow,” Andre said. “I mean, that's pretty cool. Can't deny I'm a little jealous.”

  The doctor leaned back on the bed and grabbed his textbook as if he was going to return to his reading. “Well, we both ended up in the same place, didn't we?”

  “Boss,” Vulcão said, looking a little confused. “What about the list? The rubber hose?”

  Andre nodded his head, trying to appear as if this was all part of his plan and he hadn't completely forgotten why he was there, lost in the old man's tales.

  “So I have to ask, Doc, all that chemistry you did back in the day...” Andre kicked the bag of salt next to the bed and said, “Does that have something to do with the weird list of items you've been asking me to get for you? You cooking up something in here that I need to know about?”

  The old man's eyes darted around the room, glancing at the henchmen and Andre with a nervous twitch.

  “No,” he said. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Andre leaned forward, staring right into the old man's eyes as he said, “See, that isn't for you to decide. I decide what I need to worry about, and when I need to worry about it, and right now, I'm worried. So let me ask you this, and I promise you, this is your only opportunity to answer my question honestly. What are you doing with all these items?”

  Vulcão cracked his knuckles loudly and the old man laughed right at him.

  “I'm sure this whole tough guy routine works with a lot of the prisoners locked up in this place, but I'm telling you, the arthritis I live with is a bigger pain in my ass than you could ever be.”

  Andre stared into the old man's eyes and didn't see a glimmer of anything that resembled posturing.

  “Fine,” Andre said, standing up. “Then I'm going to let Vulcão here do what he does. I'm sure it won't bother you to have a few broken bones and a face that looks like an old prune, but I have to let him do it. For the sake of keeping everyone else honest, I can't let you get away with withholding information from me. You understand.”

  As Vulcão moved toward the old man, Andre stepped toward the door to leave, then stopped and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing. You can forget about any more of your mysterious little items. You're cut off. No salt. No rubber hose. No cough syrup. Your cellmate too. We'll see how happy life is in your six by eight without any of the comforts I've been handing you two.”

  Andre smiled to himself as the old man yelled out, “Wait!”

  Andre turned toward him and feigned an expression of confusion. “Yes? Did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

  The doctor nodded. “Fine, fine. I'll tell you what all the ingredients are for. I'll tell you what I'm making. But only you. I don't want these gorillas of yours to hear anything.”

  “Boss,” Vulcão said, looking back at Andre with apprehension. “I don't like this. He could-”

  “I'm sure I can handle a seventy-nine year old, but if you insist, follow from a safe distance.” Andre hooked his thumb over his shoulder and said, “Let's take a walk, old man. I'm anxious to hear all about the secret plans of Doctor Chem.”

  5

  HECTOR

  The plan had been in the works for weeks. The feeling he had wasn't anxiety or nervousness, but a more general satisfaction as he watched all the pieces fall into place. Everything had happened easily enough. The act of hacking the security team's plans was nearly effortless, thanks to the fact that they all used MajesTech phones. Esmeralda's back doors were always open, if you knew the right way in. Once he had the main plan, as well as all the contingency plans in place, he simply let it all unfold in front of him.

  “Wolf Cub. Update.”

  “Almost in position. Targeting in two minutes.”

  His son's confidence came through the headset loud and clear. Miguel had come into his own, settling comfortably into his new role. Hector trusted him. He relied on him. He put his fate and faith in his son every night, and he was never disappointed. When he looked into Miguel's eyes, he saw a passion that rivaled his own. Miguel was driven by a dedication to the eradication of the diseased that would never falter, never fail.

  Hector looked out over the crowd that had gathered in the park with their banners and signs and balloons and snacks and it made him want to puke. Why couldn't they see the truth like his wife and son? Why couldn't they see that these heroes they were entrusting their life to would ultimately fail them? Why couldn't they see how dangerous it was to allow such power to go unchecked? It was like a flock of sheep, following a shepherd right off the cliff. But he was the Knight Wolf. If he had to cull the herd, so be it.

  He exited the park
to make his way to his own position. As he stepped past the security stations Esmeralda had paid to put in place, to assure the safety of everyone in attendance, he glanced at the banner overhead. The thick material flapped in the breeze, stretching out the words, “In Memory of Stiletto.”

  Hector smiled as he remembered the sounds of her screams, the smell of her metal flesh melting in the furnace. His grin only grew as he remembered the gratification he felt as he hammered away at the melted steel, forging the unbreakable blade he would carry into battle. The sword that could cut anything. He had a weapon that could hurt them. He had the power to kill them all. He only needed to get close enough to use it.

  He would have loved to take all the credit for this master plan of his, but it was also a delight to acknowledge his family's role in everything. It was Esmeralda's technology that provided him with the information he needed, as well as her company's philanthropic division that funded the celebration. Of course, in her mind, this was all just an information gathering exercise. It was actually Miguel who came up with the idea of mourning Stiletto's loss. It was Miguel who thought it would be the perfect opportunity to invite one of the invincible heroes to speak at the memorial service. Esmeralda would have never agreed to this had she known their true plan. He hated lying to her, but sometimes she could be too hesitant to act, too calculating. Miguel wanted to act, wanted to reach their goal of eliminating the Zharkovs on a more escalated timeline, and Hector agreed with him. They were so close.

  “Why not test out the blade on someone else who's invincible before we drive it into the heart of the Imperator?”

  Miguel was right, of course. If they were to take on the leaders of the Empire, they needed to make sure their final act would work.

  “And if anyone gets hurt at the event, we know they were supporters of the Alliance. Acceptable casualties.”

  Hector wasn't sure which part of Miguel's plan made him more proud. The logic of preparation, or his cold ruthlessness. Both were integral parts of the soldier he had raised to fight in the war.

  “In position,” Miguel announced into Hector's ear piece. “Podium is targeted.”

  Hector touched his ear and said, “Stand by.”

  He jogged over to the automated car waiting for him on the corner and popped open the trunk. Inside laid a bundle of cloth that he wrapped one arm around and lifted out. He slammed the trunk shut, glanced around at the crowd of families on the street making their way to the park, and then walked the other way.

  When he stepped into the alleyway a few blocks away, he activated the face masking technology Esmeralda had built into his suit that blurred his face, and then entered a four-story office building that was still under construction. Esmeralda had purchased the building and given the construction workers the day off. Hector made his way to the second story, through the web of bare wires hanging from the ceiling, and peered out the plastic that covered the windows. In the courtyard below the back of the building, sat a single black SUV. He could see the driver sitting behind the wheel, waiting patiently.

  Hector set down the bundle of cloth and unrolled it, revealing the contents inside: the sword he had forged from the melted body of Stiletto. He clutched the blade with one hand and unsheathed it before swinging it around his body a few times, allowing his muscles to adjust to the weight. He had been practicing every day with it, wielding the blade as an extension of his own body. Soon it felt like just another limb, and moving it was as instinctual as any fist, any foot.

  He buckled the sheath to his back and slid the blade into place, then crouched down by the window and waited. When Miguel contacted him again, it was through the small touchscreen on his wrist. A live stream of the event appeared and Hector could see the podium through the high-powered scope built into Miguel's weapon. The crowd was cheering as a man took the stage, waving and smiling as humbly as he could.

  “Thank you!” he shouted into the microphone. “Thank you all for coming today.”

  He continued to wave and smile until the volume of the cheering lowered. Then he leaned in close to the microphone and closed his eyes.

  “We've gathered together today to honor a fallen hero. But I'd like to ask all of you, men, women, and children, to refrain from mourning her loss. We are here to celebrate her life, to rise up in a warrior's roar, and pay tribute to a woman that spent every day making sure we were safe, secure, and free from the threat of Super Powers of Mass Destruction.”

  The crowd threw their fists into the air, shouting out words of fevered passion. Stiletto would have been pleased with such a raucous reaction, but Hector had no feelings of celebration for the woman. He knew the blade strapped to his back was the only good thing that had come from her life.

  “I'd like to invite someone up here to speak to you about the woman we're here to honor. Someone who knew her better than any of us. Someone who fought alongside her. Someone that knows all too well the sacrifices that the Alliance of Heroes makes for us every second of every day. Please welcome to the stage, the one, the only, the legendary Everlast!”

  The crowd's excitement exploded with the announcement of his name, but Hector felt only disgust with the man's introduction. What kind of sacrifice did an invincible man make? Could he even be concerned with the damage his actions cause when they never affect him? Could he comprehend the frailty of mortals when he felt no pain? Everlast was so far removed from what it was to be human, that Hector couldn't summon an ounce of empathy for the so-called “man” that took the stage.

  Everlast waved and pointed at random people as if he recognized them, which was all part of his media training, of course. Just another tactic to humanize the inhuman. His blue and black leather costume looked shiny, like it had been waxed right before he walked out. The only thing that matched the gleam of his costume was the white of his teeth. Annoyingly perfect.

  The crosshair of the scope was centered a few feet to the right and above Everlast's head, unwavering as he moved across the stage. Miguel's adjustment for wind, distance, and elevation was exact. His anticipation of the target's movement was impeccable. His breathing was perfect. He waited with tranquil serenity for his father's command.

  As soon as Everlast stepped behind the podium and leaned into the microphone, Hector spoke a single word.

  “Fire.”

  The camera bounced when the shot was taken, but Miguel dropped it back into place instantly. At the distance he was firing from, it took a second for the bullet to reach Everlast. As the man opened his mouth to speak, his head rocked back as the shot struck his forehead. The crowd erupted with panic as the sound of the gunshot reached their ears. There was screaming and shouting as Everlast scanned the audience, trying to see the attacker.

  “Again.”

  The second bullet struck him in the chest, throwing him into the air. He landed on his back and immediately scrambled to stand back up. The crowd was spreading out, trampling over each other as they attempted to flee. Security rushed into the crowd, hopelessly trying to evaluate each of them as potential threats.

  “One more.”

  Another shot ricocheted off Everlast's cheek and struck one of the security guards in the shoulder. The rest of the security team leapt into action, unwilling to let one of their own take a bullet so the invincible celebrity could pose as a hero. A mob of men in suits rushed the stage, pulling Everlast toward the backstage area.

  Hector adjusted the screen on his arm, tapping into the backstage security camera. He watched them rush past the portable bathrooms and the catering area, until they reached the waiting SUV. Hector pushed a button and watched the vehicle explode into a rolling ball of fire. The security team reeled back in horror, then moved to their backup plan. They pushed Everlast through the dressing room tent and out a side entrance, onto one of the main streets that surrounded the park. Three SUVs were parked in a row, engines idling.

  Hector pushed a second button and the three SUVs exploded in succession, hurling the metal frames into the air. The
y crashed back down onto the pavement as useless husks. He could see Everlast yelling at the security, but they were ignoring him, shoving him across the street as half the team blocked traffic. The last thing he saw through his screen was the team of men creating a human shield, surrounding Everlast as they ducked into a courtyard behind a four-story office building.

  He knew Esmeralda was watching the same view that he was, calculating the cost of all this, but it was worth every penny. Every security guard. Every SUV. Every trampled bystander.

  Hector swiped the screen shut and unsheathed the sword from his back. When he saw the group of men enter the courtyard below him, he tore the plastic sheet from the window. Only two of the security guards noticed the movement, but by the time they alerted the rest of them, Hector was already leaping from the opening. He landed on the SUV parked below him, driving the blade through the roof of the vehicle and straight into the body of the driver. Blood splattered against the windshield as the man inside was split in two.

  The security guards raised their pistols toward Hector, but he was already retracting the blade from the roof and rolling off the hood of the SUV. A few dodges in a zigzag pattern helped him cross the courtyard without a single bullet striking him. When he reached the group of men, he swung the blade in a large arc, cleanly separating two of the men from their legs. A bullet struck his chest, but the armor Esmeralda had built into his suit took the brunt of the hit, making it feel like a weak punch. Another swing sliced through the shooter's wrist, causing his hand and pistol to fall to the ground.

  Hector continued his massacre, stabbing and slashing through the mob of security, splattering blood and organs across the wall of the building, until only Everlast stood in front of him, surrounded by the mutilated corpses of his security detail.

  “Who the hell are you?” Everlast asked, looking shocked, but unafraid.

  “I am your death,” Hector said, clenching the sword tighter.