Secrets of a D-List Supervillain

by Jim Bernheimer

  “I’ve had my share of death threats, Cal. It’d take a lot more than what you bring to the table to rattle me, but I’ll take you at your word, and will go ahead and do a nondisclosure agreement. One thing about the ‘tell all’ industry is that the real money is made when you’re on the talkshow circuit. That won’t happen if you’re on the run or in prison, so it’s in my best interests to ensure that you are able to sit on a couch with a camera in front of you and talk about your book. So, do we have the beginnings of a partnership?”

  I took her offered hand and said, “I do believe we do, Megan.”

  Of course, in reality, I was waiting for the pardon before releasing the book so that when I killed good old Lazarus I already had a built-in alibi, and perhaps the sympathy of the general public. As far as I was concerned, it was never too early to consider something like that. We spent the next thirty minutes hashing out the rest of the details before agreeing to meet again in my home state of Alabama.

  In truth, this little get together had gone much better than I had hoped, and I was already close to becoming a best-selling author.

  Now, the only trick was making sure I would be in a position to enjoy the accolades.

  • • •

  My most optimistic plan called for a patient year-long wait while I located all the components for my new armor. You can only imagine my surprise when none other than Paul West showed up and asked what I needed to make the next version of Mechani-CAL a reality. Now, instead of years, I could begin thinking in terms of months.”

  Given the fact that I could barely stand that no-good sleazy bastard, it was a remarkable reversal of fortune. Even though I’m not one to believe in signs, on the surface, this was about as fortuitous as I could imagine.

  Driving a rented U-Haul through the gates of the Branson Missouri mansion owned by The Evil Overlord, or one of his shell companies, brought back memories of Vicky, which felt like so long ago. My time with her had been a slow build of something incredible; cut short way before its time. Now, I couldn’t help but compare it to the fast-moving train wreck with Stacy. With the Olympian, our interactions were volatile and desperate on both our parts. Vicky allowed me to be happy with the person I was and not feel like I needed to change. Conversely, those few weeks with Stacy before she was mindwiped, had challenged me and made me actually want to become a better man. Despite the fact that it was pointless to debate the merits of my two failed relationships, I couldn’t help but wonder which of the two was closer to being the real thing.

  In all likelihood, I’d take that question to the grave with me.

  Taking in the surroundings, I felt a sense of nostalgia. With the exception of a different paint color on the shutters, the main house looked exactly as I remembered. Part of me wished that I could walk around back to the hot tub, and find Vicky enjoying one of her trashy romance novels.

  Instead, Paul West and two of his goons stepped out the front door and began walking to me. Sliding my right hand into a waiting force blaster gauntlet, I wasn’t going to simply accept Mr. West and his employer’s gracious offer like some doe eyed newbie.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stringel. I trust you had a pleasant drive.”

  “It had its moments,” I said. The trip had been a good way to blow off some steam after another late night session of Patterson and the nightly report.

  “Very good,” Paul answered. “If you would back up to the garage, we can get the items you requested loaded.”

  I was still waiting for the other shoe to fall, but did as he directed while my mind ran through any and all scenarios of how The Overlord could be screwing me over. His men could easily slip a bomb into one of the crates, but what does that get him? It’s not like I, or the Gulf Coasters are a threat to his organization. Bugs and listening devices? That’s probably a given, but I can sweep for those easily enough at the storage unit where I’m going to take this, so I can inspect it before transporting it to our headquarters. So far, nothing I can come up with is better than The Overlord wanting me to keep Ultradouche occupied.

  Deciding that I’d have the next several hours to overthink this whole thing, I shut off the engine and climbed out of the front seat. Walking around to the rear, the men already had the back open and were lowering the ramp. Inside the garage, I saw six spools of synthmuscle, which would get the new suit up and running with at least a spool to spare. It clearly wasn’t the high grade Promethia brand, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I popped the top on one of the crates and saw several sheets of armor plating—the material definitely looked dated, but serviceable. When I set up the power feed from my Alabama base, my shields would, hopefully, be almost impenetrable and these substandard components would work quite nicely.

  Paul West made his way over to me as I was inspecting the crates. “All the items you requested are here. My employer would like to remind you that you are to be an irritant to Lazarus, but he reserves the right to be the one who delivers the final blow.”

  He bothered to spell that out? That’s micromanagement at its finest.

  “Paul,” I said. “I am supposed to be one of the good guys, now. That’s frowned on nowadays.”

  “Of course it is, Mr. Stringel. But given the fact that less than 100 feet from where we stand I recall you threatening my own life... You’ve also killed a bank robber, and should I even mention the rumors swirling about the death of that one hero at Mount Olympus?”

  “Accidents do happen, Mr. West.” There was no use denying anything he said.

  “Granted. And though no one believes you could best Patterson in armored combat, murdering him outside of his suit might be something you would consider. I’m just making sure you understand the ramifications of such actions.”

  “Well, either he or your boss lured me into an ambush filled with robotic assassins. Considering the Overlord’s generosity at the moment, I find it difficult to believe he would go to such lengths to engineer this scenario. This also means that Ultraweapon will probably try to kill me again. I will defend myself, naturally. I hope your employer understands that. But for the sake of moving forward, I will also say that I won’t attack him if he isn’t in his armor.”

  Of course, he has no idea what I’m planning!

  After a minute or so of awkward silence, I asked. “Any word on General Devious?”

  Paul scowled at me. “Even if I were privy to any information, Guardian, what makes you think I would share that knowledge with you?”

  “Point taken,” I responded. “Didn’t want to step on her toes as well.”

  Not that she could feel it with her paralyzed limbs!

  The good general had managed to survive the Bug Invasion by virtue of her telekinetic powers. However, her organization, which had mounted several rescue attempts, had been decimated by losses. True, she did fair better than the roughly five hundred million who were too sick, or otherwise unable, to work in the New World Order. Ultraweapon and the Overlord probably slept just fine by blaming each other for the unimaginable loss of life.

  There was the temptation to ask Paul to let me walk around, but I figured I’d watch his steroid abusers load the rental.

  It was also tempting to remind Paul of the time he said I was going to get my ass handed to me by Patterson’s little band of suit hunters. Pompous Jerk!

  Thinking back to the actual encounter with Promethia’s employees and the previous roster from the Gulf Coast, I recalled the notion that I should have faked my death and high-tailed it out of there. Were I to actually off Patterson, I’d then have to be ready for Devious or the Overlord to try and kill me.

  That’s no way to live a life!

  Bolt Action had implied that his “best case scenario” was we finished each other off. Already, the wheels were beginning to churn out the beginnings of plan that killed him and allowed me to walk away unscathed.

  Yeah, that could work! I thought. Poor Mechani-CAL, you’re almost ready to be recreated and someone had to go and plan for your impending
doom.

  • • •

  “Sounds like you were considerably more premeditated than what was in your book.”

  “Branding and imaging, I suppose. If you must blame someone, blame Ms. Bostic.”

  The beautiful Olympian looks like she wants to say something. Whatever it is, she takes a breath and swallows the words back. I appreciate that she doesn’t want to go there. “So, that’s when you decided to fake your death?”

  “Pretty much. My first instinct was to build something similar to Megasuit, but instead, I just used a couple of the mirror fragments for the suit to run the extra power and ammo feed for the grenade launcher along with the remote operating setup. All the rest was going to be a bomb to take out Ultraweapon and make it appear that I died trying.”

  “Why did you wait to go after him, then?”

  “I was all set to do it, but then Wendy had a bombshell of her own to drop... that she was pregnant.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Idiot’s Guide to Victory

  Stacy and I were enjoying a picnic on the grounds when Wendy arrived, toting my daughter. I knew my leader’s moods well enough to recognize the waves of anger radiating from the young woman.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I caught one of Dad’s cronies trying to slip a tracking device into Gabrielle’s stuffed bear. Long story short, he tried to have me taken into custody.”

  Standing up, I held my arms out to take my slightly wind burnt bundle of joy from Wendy. The Gabster immediately grabs my nose to show how much she missed me.

  To the pissed off superheroine I say, “Simmer down, Wendy. Just dial it back a couple of notches.”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel!”

  “I’m not trying to tell you anything, except that if you start making more than a localized barometric change, the feds can track your position using weather data. So, either get it together right now, or go hover out in the Gulf and see if you can create a tropical depression.”

  For the next three seconds I get her death stare, before she mutters in frustration, “Shit! I hate it when you’re right.”

  “It’s usually a surprise to me as well,” I reply, and continue. “What happened this time; did your father’s push polls say it was the right time to put his foot down?”

  “I don’t know!” she snaps.

  “Wendy,” Stacy says and points at the picnic basket. “When was the last time you ate? We’ve got plenty.”

  With an incredulous look, Wendy stammers, “Who gives a shit about... Actually, I am starving.”

  “Eat first,” the Love Goddess says. “The other problem won’t solve itself that easily. One of the things you two may be overlooking is that just because the senator is leading the charge for more legislation and control in our world, doesn’t mean that he’s the only one out there. Trust me, I’m certainly not trying to defend him, but others in his movement may be leaning on him to go after you, since they can spin it as a father trying to correct his daughter’s behavior problem, instead of a government official trying to harass a rogue superhero.”

  I’m ready to admit that I hadn’t thought of that, but the other party in the conversation wasn’t so easily swayed. While making the world’s most haphazard looking sandwich, Wendy counters with, “It sure sounds like you’re defending him! Has your position on this changed any, Olympian?”

  “I’m just the pretty one, Wendy,” Stacy answers, with the slightest hint of disgust in her voice. “My opinions are rarely sought on these things, but since you asked, I’ve been playing by the Government’s rules for years now and I can deal with it, but I can see where you three are coming from.”

  “Five if you count Andy and Bobby,” I interject. Andy can’t really express bitterness, but he does show gratitude and knows that everyone but me wrote him off as replaceable. Suffice it to say, it has altered his worldview. Bobby? As far as he’s concerned, he’s tired of being considered a lightweight and likes the idea of running with the big dogs who answer to no one.

  “You five, then,” she corrects. “So, here’s my deal; as long as you’re not engaging in wholesale murder and the like, I’m going to feign ignorance.”

  “Did you find what Cal did to Ultraweapon objectionable... or Mather for that matter?”

  Wendy isn’t the kind to take ultimatums sitting down and isn’t afraid to challenge someone. I didn’t want to muddy the waters by stating that both those situation weren’t that cut and dried, but I can deal in oversimplifications. I’ve spent a lifetime doing exactly that.

  “At the time I did, but that was the heat of the moment. In retrospect, both were justifiable. I’ll give you guys the benefit of the doubt as long as I’m not questioning your actions on a daily basis. It is for your benefit as well.”

  “How so?” Wendy inquires.

  “Right now, you’re the most popular one of us out there. You’ve got the public on your side, which is why you’re getting the kid gloves treatment. I’d be prepared for a PR offensive from the government that will try and chip away at your reputation, if I were in your position.”

  “Just remember,” Wendy says. “If it ever comes out that Cal is still alive, you’re bound to get swept up in all this as well.”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Stacy answers. In truth, I hadn’t considered that angle either, but apparently both of these ladies had.

  Noticing the weight on my shoulder had shifted, I see that the drool machine has passed out. “I think all that fresh air during your trip wore her out. I’ll take her back down and get her into her pac-and-play.”

  Wendy shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it. It probably won’t happen, but I’ll lay down with her and try to get some rest. Maybe things won’t seem so bad after some sleep. It’s a nice day out and you two should enjoy it.”

  I hand my daughter back over to her mother and watch the duo depart. I wait a few seconds for Wendy to get clear before I say, “I told her going in that this was a possibility. She’s as stubborn as she is powerful and is determined to change the world. I didn’t have anywhere near her ambition at that age. Unfortunately, I think she’s about to find out just how resistant to change the world can be.”

  “She’s your public face. Part of the reason Robin and Holly are always so intense is the constant sea of bullshit they have to wade through from everyone pointing fingers. What about you?” she asks with a sly smile on her face. “Did you sign on to change the world? Or to show off in the Megasuit?”

  “I’m hurt,” I protest, with a false frown on my face, and resist the urge to comment on the root cause of Athena’s intensity. We all know it’s the stick up her ass anyway. “I thought you knew better. I really, really, really wanted to show off in the Megasuit.”

  “You’re the most honest quasi-criminal I’ve ever met, Cal.”

  “I try. So, how did you figure out she was hungry?”

  “It’s a subset of my empathic powers. Concentrate enough and I can sense what the person’s most immediate desire is. For Wendy, it was a combination of anger and hunger radiating off of her.”

  No, that’s an interesting nugget of information. Thinking really hard, I offer, “So what’s my most immediate desire?”

  Stacy rolls her eyes and says, “I just ate. So that’s definitely not going to happen, but maybe if you bribe me with some more of your story we can arrange something suitable in trade.”

  “If I were to embellish this section, does it improve my chances?”

  “Just stick to the facts, Calvin.”

  “But we’re getting to the good part. Oh, okay. If I have to...”

  • • •

  Fatherhood! Well, smack my ass and call me Sally! Somehow, I managed to successfully mate with another human being. My first thought was that I should call at least five people I grew up with and rub that fact in their face, but I was still standing there in my workshop, where I’d been stuffing some of the innards into my new armor, with a stupid express
ion on my face.

  Naturally, reality slapped me across the face like a wet fish.

  I’m going to be a shitty dad! I’m a card carrying self-centered narcissist; an ex-felon with so few morals that, like a vampire, I shouldn’t be able to stand on holy ground.

  Okay, maybe I’m not that bad, but I need my own semi to carry around my emotional baggage.

  More importantly, and back to the narcissism, how is this going to change my plan to kill Patterson and fake my demise? Could I still do it?

  Yes.

  Should I do it?

  Tougher question.

  Should I just stand here debating this or wait for this armor to finish itself?

  Hmmm, self-assembly feature? Probably ten or fifteen years from that. It’d be cool though. Damn it all! Get to work, Cal!

  I tried to push the random thoughts aside, but they kept intruding. Considering what a one-track mind I possessed, this was doubly annoying. Picturing junior or juniorette on the playground and hearing the other kids’ taunts.

  “I hate you! Your dad killed Ultraweapon!”

  “You’re a loser. Your dad was killed by Ultraweapon!” That one was noticeably worse.

  I grunted in frustration and began unwinding the synthmuscle I’d just knotted. I was using a pair of mirror shards to run the power through, along with a third, larger shard that had the tip of an M-19 belt-fed 40mm grenade launcher sticking out of it. Instead of a twelve round capacity, I could link up dozens on the belt, and just keep firing until the ammo boxes ran dry. It would be a sight to behold! Now, I just had to make it cosmetically look like the regular grenade launcher I mounted to my suit. In the casing where I normally kept the grenades, I could slip in an extra shield generator for some win-win action.