Rise of a D-List Supervillain

by Jim Bernheimer

  “True,” the imposter concedes. “Either way, the results speak for themselves. Hundreds died. Hundreds more were turned into Manglermals, and there’s a twenty-mile quarantine zone in the middle of northern Mexico. I don’t even want to talk about what happened to José. He was one of the few Guardians I got along with. Now, instead of clones, he makes animal people.”

  “Have you reached out to him?”

  “He took my call and we had a brief conversation. If we can work out our schedules, we hope to meet somewhere and catch up.”

  That piques my interest. José knows I’m really alive. I’ll have to ask Wendy if she’s arranging a trap.

  The fake continues, “Meanwhile, I sit here and watch Hera and Athena try and tell the world that it was a successful mission. That’s the same thinking that I criticized in my book. I’m really starting to wonder what their definition of successful is.”

  “But Cal,” Kristi says. “That’s a pretty broad brush you’re painting the situation with. Surely you know that out in the field, things don’t always go as planned.”

  “Then they need better plans! Look at their recent track record.”

  “I think you’re skewing things here, Cal. They captured one of General Devious’s bases. Aphrodite, by herself, stabilized the situation in the Philippines. I could—wait. Wait! There’s something coming in. I’m getting something from my producers.”

  Steve is holding his hand to his earpiece, looking confused. “What are we seeing?”

  The screen shifts to a football field that looks like a fireworks display went off wrong, and there is a cloud covering the area.

  A figure, in what looks like a torn marching band uniform, staggers into view, while the audio mikes pick up screams and cries for help. Having seen quite a bit of it recently, I recognize someone in the throes of a Manglermal transformation.

  “There was a detonation during the halftime show. We’re not sure what’s happening?”

  I mute the audio feed and run upstairs. Andy is already switching over to the feed from the news channel. “I think Devious just used one of her bombs in Philadelphia! Alert everyone!”

  It takes a few minutes for everyone to assemble. Wendy has to settle Gabby down. Larry and Stacy have to come down from the house. Bobby emerges from the bathroom and I’m not sure I want to know what just went on in there. I can only hope that the air filters in there are up to the task.

  By then, the channel that previously broadcast the Army-Navy game is now broadcasting from their central news desk with a news anchor hurriedly rushed into the chair. Andy is pulling the prior footage and trying to enhance it.

  Andy works the controls with deft movements across the display panels “I will attempt to draw footage from satellites and any other telemetry I can gather.”

  We’re treated to a fast-moving display of social media whirring and combining into a panoramic picture of the stadium. The marching bands move in formation while the scrolling bar recaps the action from the first half. There is a loud noise that causes all the performers to scatter. It shifts to someone’s cellphone capturing a detonation releasing a cloud. All hell breaks loose as the scenes shift from phones to the stadium cameras to the blimp floating above.

  “Where’s Mega?” Wendy demands.

  Andy replies, “At top speed and with assistance from the Jetstream, ETA is five hours to Philadelphia.”

  Stacy moves close and grabs my hand. “I have to go,” she says quietly.

  It’s the part of the deal she signed up for. I get it. She’s out in the limelight and that’s exactly where I don’t want to be. “I’ll ride up with you.”

  “Wait,” Andy interrupts. “This video first appeared on social media web sites seventeen minutes ago. It appears that these accounts are either hacked or they were created and then left dormant until they were needed. It is a broadcast message from General Devious.”

  The how doesn’t matter so much at this point.

  There on the computer screen, grinning at the world, is Elaine Davros. Aside from her usual hovering chair, she’s wearing an Air Force baseball cap. Using her telekinesis, she waves a series of small pennants in the air around her.

  “As a former Air Force Academy graduate, I’ve always loathed the Army-Navy football game. So, go Falcons! Too bad the president missed the game today. It makes me wonder if he had a tip from those psychics our tax dollars pay for. Too bad he didn’t extend that warning to all the others attending that game. Looks like the Secretary of Defense was there. Who knows what that sniveling worm turned into? With the mascots being goats and mules, I wonder how many of those we will get.”

  She gives a throaty laugh and floats a glass of champagne to her lips. “So that was an amazing halftime show, wasn’t it? All those screams. Even thinking about it sends chills up my spine. How about those transformations? It is a pity that Doctor Mangler isn’t here to witness his weapon of mass evolution unleashed. Tens of thousands of Manglermals created in one fell swoop, and most of them created from the best and the brightest young officers of two military branches. Now what will our president do? He promises that he will take care of our military, but what about those treaties we’ve signed with all those other countries banning Manglermals in the armed forces? Quite the dilemma, wouldn’t you say?

  “Allow me to offer a solution: Bow down to me. It’s really that simple. I have a significant inventory of these bombs and the capacity to make more. Maybe I should detonate one in DC? It would show the American people what base animals represent them in Congress. Even more importantly, who would ever vote a person turned into a Mangler back into office? But maybe I should just leave those cowering maggots that we call politicians alone. There are so many ways to take away their precious power and put them on their knees before me. Consider what would happen to the stock markets if New York City were to experience an unprecedented outbreak in animal behavior. Do you really think the Olympians, the Guardians, or even those Renegades can stop me? They must have felt so proud when they captured that one minor base of mine. I salute you for winning the battle while I was winning the war. Well done indeed—very well done.”

  Devious stops and offers a polite but insincere clap while her eyes practically glow with megalomania. “Victory is so sweet. I would normally demand an immediate surrender, but who doesn’t enjoy a good spectacle? My advisors all say that everyone will need an adjustment period to prepare themselves for the new regime. I think a month is appropriate. So, to my future subjects of this and every other country, I hereby give you permission to riot, loot, hoard, burn everything down, head for the hills, flee the cities, settle old grudges, take what is yours, and get whatever you need out of your system. At the end of that month, I will come to claim what is rightfully mine. Do try to spare someone to formally surrender to me. Right now, the world is my oyster, and if you’re not careful, you could be one, too.”

  Her internet transmission ends with a sinister rendition of “Hail to the Chief.”

  Larry stands up. His jaw is firmly set, and for the first time since he killed Mangler and company, he looks like he’s ready to get back out there. “She needs to die. I’ll kill that bitch myself, if you need me to.”

  “I ain’t got no problem with offing her. What’s got you wound up, big guy?” Bobby asks.

  “Stacy said that there’s a chance one of my kids was in Philly recently.”

  “It’ll be OK, Larry,” Stacy says, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure your child was nowhere near there.”

  All eyes turn to Wendy. She’s the only one other than Stacy who might put a stop to this talk of killing Devious.

  “She’s gone too far this time. I won’t object if it comes to that.” Wendy looks to my girlfriend. “Are you going to keep your team out of our way?”

  “She’s trying to take over countries and destroying lives in the process. Even if that bomb had a ninety percent survival rate, she probably just killed six or seven thousand people. I can’t speak for
the rest of my team, but I don’t object. In fact, the politicians might tie my team’s hands and make us sit this one out. You could be our best hope, maybe our only hope. I’ve seen what you guys are capable of, and I know you’ll rise to this challenge as well.”

  “Damn straight!” Larry says, while Bobby nods in agreement.

  In my mind, I take Stacy’s words a step further. If the politicians feel truly threatened, they might have the Olympians and the Guardian teams try to stop us.

  Wendy catches my eye. She looks far older than a woman in her early twenties has any right to. She’s worried, and her fear is obvious. Fear that our fall will rival our sudden rise, fear that things are rapidly approaching the point of no return, and fear that while Devious is playing her hand, the Overlord is still out there waiting for his turn with something just as heinous. The stakes are high, and our margin for error just shrunk to nothing. If we have to pay the piper, the world will suffer alongside us.

  • • •

  Cal Stringel and the New Renegades will return in Fall of a D-List Supervillain.

  • • •

  Amber Cove Publishing is Proud to Present

  Time to Lie – by Phil Taylor

  Prologue or Epilogue

  I’m going to have to kill myself. There’s no other logical course of action. Then again, it’s been a while since there was any logical course of action in my life.

  I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, but I think it’s finished. At least, I’m as sure as I can be right now. I’m writing my story down. I doubt it will exonerate me, but I’m hoping that someone will believe me and understand the truth.

  Who am I kidding? The truth is just the lie we’ve chosen to believe, and yours may be different than mine.

  You’ll likely dismiss this as fiction, and that’s fine. I’m just not sure anymore. The uncertainty is maddening. Where do I begin? Or rather, when do I begin? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. I’ve always felt that I’ve led a life that has been charmed and cursed at the same time. I started to notice the pattern when I was in college . . .

  Chapter 1

  “Landon, c’mon! Hurry up!”

  Idiots, I said to myself. I slammed the door behind me and ran. My footsteps pounding down the hallway echoed off the aged tile floors and painted cinder block. Without slowing down, I pushed open the swinging door at the end of the corridor with my outstretched hands. I didn’t worry about anyone’s safety—just barreled through the door, banging it against the wall. My feet skittered a little as I tried to turn on a dime. When I faced the elevator, my eyes met hers for just a split second before the doors closed, severing our all-too-brief gaze. Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear I saw her pupils begin to dilate and the corner of her mouth turn upward before the spell was broken. I stood there, breathing heavily. Somewhere—I think it was Twitter—I read, the first kiss is not with the lips, but with the eyes.If that was the case, I was pretty sure my eyes just tried to make out with her, with tongue.

  There’s a Malcolm Gladwell book called Slice or Blink or something like that. We had to read it for Psych 100. Basically, the premise is that in an instant, in the blink of an eye—oh yeah, Blink is the title of it. Anyway, the gist of it is that in most situations, despite how much we believe we think things through, we actually gather the information we need and make our decisions in the time it takes to blink. I never really gave the book a second thought until now—not until I saw those big pupils and the tiny upward movement of the muscle at the corner of her lips. That blink in time told me everything I needed to know.

  I was eighteen years old, and my little head always seemed to have enough electoral votes to defeat my big head. Truth be told, I was pretty sure it was a dictatorship anyway. Pun intended. Without hesitation, I bolted for the stairs, determined to beat the elevator to the lobby. The shuttle bus left the dorm every thirty minutes. I had two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to make it to the first floor and into the shuttle. How did I know it would be two minutes and thirty-seven seconds before the shuttle pulled away from the curb? I just knew. I always knew. Two twenty-six.

  I was on the track team in high school, so I figured I had a fighting chance even if it was nine floors. I leapt down two steps at a time, grabbing the railing and letting my momentum swing me around the turns at each landing in the stairwell. If my sweaty hand loses its grip on the railing, I’m going to have a hell of a fall, I thought as I hit the seventh-floor landing. By the fifth floor, I was getting winded. One minute forty-eight, the back of my mind whispered to me. At three, I was starting to slow down, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t give up. Fifty-nine seconds. I pictured the tiny little crinkle I saw at the corner of her mouth growing into a full-blown smile as she looked at me.

  As my feet pounded downward step after step, I imagined myself reaching the lobby only to have our eyes meet again for an instant just before the door of the shuttle bus to Fraternity Row closed behind her. I imagined my friends would be in the seats, looking out the windows and laughing at my misfortune. Maybe one of them would open the window to yell, “Catch the next shuttle. We’ll be at Zeta!” Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

  On the last landing, just four steps from the first-floor lobby, my hand slipped off the railing and I almost went down. I waved my arms wildly to keep my balance and managed to stay upright as I crashed heavily into the wall. The wind was knocked out of me and my shoulder hurt, but I only paused for a moment to regain my bearings. I leapt down the last four steps, entering the lobby almost out of control, as if I was surprised to be there, kind of the way Kramer always seemed to enter Jerry’s apartment in Seinfeld.

  I stood there for a moment, breathing like I had just run a marathon. Twenty-nine seconds. I looked around the lobby and saw a few students in the lounge studying, a couple of people coming and going, and the resident assistant sitting behind the front desk. Damn it, I thought. I had missed them. Yeah, I could catch the next shuttle and probably be only fifteen or twenty minutes behind them, but the spell would be broken.

  That magical moment, that look, those eyes seeing me see her, would never happen again just like that. Hell, by the time I got to the frat house, she could be making out with some drunk dude who I was sure wouldn’t appreciate that little crinkle at the corners of her eyes or the way her smile breaks open slowly like a sunrise.

  Ding! The noise startled me out of my dysphoric reverie. It was the elevator arriving at the first floor. I was so surprised that I just stood there, dumbfounded, watching everyone pour out of the elevator like it was a clown car. But then, I saw her again. She smiled in my direction. At least, I thought she did. She was swept along with the crowd of raucous partygoers heading for the front door. I chased after them, falling into the tail end, hoping to end up on the same shuttle bus.

  The small throng flowed out of the dorm and funneled into the open door of the campus shuttle at the curb. I pictured myself getting on the bus, scanning the full rows of seats, and then, there in the back, she would be sitting alone with a spot on the bench seat next to her, saved just for me. My hopeful little illusion was shattered as I put my foot on the first step of the shuttle. The driver held up his hand. “Full. Sorry. I’ll be back around in thirty minutes.”

  “C’mon, it’s just me. I’m with them,” I said, motioning vaguely toward the rest of the passengers. “I can squeeze in,” I stammered. The driver just nodded his head and waved at me to climb aboard. The doors clapped shut with me on the right side of them. I was ecstatic as I moved down the aisle and the bus began to pull away from the curb. I briefly fantasized that our eyes would meet again and she would motion for me to sit next to her. Of course, that didn’t happen. She didn’t even know my name.

  I knew hers, having noticed her on move-in day at the college. It had been overcast and just starting to sprinkle. The sidewalk in front of Cayuga Hall was like a New York City street during the morning rush. There were literally hundreds of students moving their
belongings onto campus and into that dormitory at the same time.

  As Uncle Jim and I unloaded the car, I kept scanning the crowd for someone to let go of an empty pull cart so I wouldn’t have to carry my things up the stairs to my ninth-floor room. The elevator wasn’t even an option without a cart. I was lifting the last thing—a mini-fridge—from the backseat of my uncle’s car when I heard the cutest giggle.

  I set the fridge down in as manly a way as I possibly could. Considering I was only five-foot-eight and weighed about a buck forty, it wasn’t very manly. When I turned around, I saw her. Or rather, I saw the back of her head as she talked to someone, maybe her sister or a roommate. She was gorgeous. At least, the back of her was. She had a beautiful lion’s mane of red hair. I thought I heard a chorus of angels as she was lit by rays of the sun meant only for her. I was in love. I didn’t see her face, but I was in love just the same. That musical voice melted me with just a giggle and that gorgeous hair sealed the deal.

  At that moment, a car crashed into me—it felt that way anyway.

  “Oops! Sorry, dude. You okay?” What appeared to be a football player stopped his cart and held out a hand to help me up from the ground.

  Dude? Jeez, what a tool, I thought. My hands were scraped from the fall, but my pride was hurt more when I saw her face for the first time. She and her friend briefly glanced over at the disturbance. I turned my head, hoping her first sight of me wouldn’t be this. There was that giggle again. Sadly, it still sounded just as angelic as it did the first time I’d heard it.

  I brushed myself off after allowing him to pull me up. My future wife had already turned back to her conversation, and I still hadn’t seen her face. “Hey,” I said to the human refrigerator that flattened me. “Since you ran me down, would you mind bringing me that cart when you’re done with it?”