Rise of the Supervillains Page 3

  Magda stopped in the doorway and said, “Yes. It seems our little videographer has garnered support among the populace. Executing her for treason wouldn't exactly play well on the nightly news.”

  “If you don't speak out against her statements, support for our troops will disappear. Morale will be shattered!”

  Magda smiled back at him and said, “Oh dear. This is why you punch things and I do the thinking. I'm not going to just let her get away with what she said. I'm going to turn her into a spokesperson. I don't need to disagree with what she said, I just need to change the narrative.”

  “Change the narrative? But she literally told people that we shouldn't be fighting.”

  “And she's right!” Magda said with a twinkle in her eye. “What the Neo-Nipponese are doing to our people is horrific! Which is why we should do everything in our power to end this uprising as quickly as possible.”

  “I could end the uprising,” Yuri said, slamming one of his tiny, super-powered fists into the palm of his hand, causing a small tremor in the room. “I'd squash them all like bugs.”

  Magda ruffled his hair and said, “I'm sure you would, dear. Now come on. Let's give these two some privacy.” Then she winked at Carmen and Maksim as they stepped out the door and said, “Your grandmother wants more grandchildren some day.”

  There was a long, awkward silence when Magda left the room before Maksim mumbled to himself, “That boy worries me. He hasn't had... a proper childhood.”

  Carmen nodded her head, though she wasn't sure what Maksim actually meant.

  “His father, Azakor. He's fighting? In the war?”

  Maksim nodded. “Yes. But we don't call it that.”

  “Don't call what... what?”

  “We don't call it a war. It's an uprising.”

  Carmen frowned, a smirk unconsciously raising in the corner of her mouth. “And the difference is...?”

  “Neo-Nippon calls it a war. They claim my brother murdered their family so they could attack our shore.”

  “And you don't believe them? You don't think your brother killed the Dominus and his wife? Or the grandson?”

  Maksim bowed his head. “It is not my place to believe or disbelieve.”

  Carmen tilted her head, unwilling to accept such a blunt answer. “You can't make decisions? You can't decide what's right and wrong?”

  “I am a Guardian. I follow orders. That is all. The rest, I leave to my Imperator.”

  “And if he orders you to do something you don't want to do? Something you don't think is right?”

  “The Imperator only wants what is best for the Empire. I will do what I need to do.”

  Carmen turned away from him, unable to understand someone so robotic. She couldn't relate to a basis of reasoning so basic, so devoid of ambiguity, that it left no questions, no debate. She stared into the fire, watching the flames eat away at the charred wood.

  “And when the Imperator told you to marry me?”

  Maksim flinched, turning toward her in shock by her blunt question, before taking a breath and saying, “It is what's best for the Empire.”

  “But you'd rather be out there,” Carmen said, waving her hand vaguely toward the east. “Right? Deep down, you think your time would be better spent fighting this... uprising.”

  Maksim stared at the floor, seeming to consider her question very deeply. His eyes gazed across the floor as his mind searched for the answer.

  “I don't always see things clearly,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “I am not what you would call... a smart man. I don't always see what is best in the long run. I live here, now, in the present. So yes, I think I should be fighting. I think I should be doing everything in my power to protect the lives of our citizens. But that is why I put my faith in my Imperator, in my mother, and in my brother, Azakor. They see things differently. They were meant to rule. I was meant to...”

  His voice drifted off, and Carmen couldn't tell if he was ashamed to finish the sentence, or truly didn't know the answer. She couldn't help herself. She prodded the man, hoping to force a thought from his mind that might challenge him and his viewpoint.

  “What is it, Maksim?” she asked, setting her hand on his, barely covering half of it. “What do you think you were meant for?”

  “I am the Warhammer.” Maksim pulled his hand away and stood up, flinging his cape behind him. “I break things. And I am good at it.”

  Carmen forced a smile and nodded, trying to placate him, either out of sympathy or fear. She wasn't sure which.

  “Yet, here we are.”

  Maksim turned around, a quizzical look on his face. “What do you mean?”

  Carmen shrugged. “I'm not here for you to break, am I? I'm here for you to marry. To create an heir. If you were only meant to be the Warhammer, wouldn't you be in the war?”

  “I told you, it's not a war.”

  “You know what I mean. It seems to me that these people you think are so much smarter than you believe you have more to offer than just being another weapon.”

  Maksim nodded his head. “Perhaps they believe in me more than I believe in myself.”

  Carmen opened her mouth to agree, to continue him down the path of seeing himself as more than a blunt object, but he cut her off.

  “Or perhaps,” he said as he touched the scarred flesh her fist had left on his cheek, “they see the opportunity for the two of us to create a weapon that's more powerful than I am.”

  The metaphor had gotten away from her. What started as a simple play on words, disgusted her. Was that what she was in their grand scheme? A weapon factory?

  Maksim shook his head. “This is why these debates are pointless. There is no right or wrong, there is just the way of the world. The way of the Empire.”

  “Oh, give me a break. I'm sure it's easier to think that way. You never have to challenge your own viewpoints, or really take any responsibility for your actions. You just let the smart ones tell you what to do.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” Maksim said. “Perhaps once you spend some more time in the Citadel, you'll... you'll learn about the way things work.”

  Carmen let out a single, “Ha!” before she asked, “And then what? I can be a mindless drone like you? Maybe I can murder people too and lay down at night, guilt-free, because I was 'just following orders.' Is that what I have to look forward to?”

  Maksim stared at her without making a sound. The silence made her outburst more inappropriate. But she was getting used to that feeling. Everything felt inappropriate in the Grand Citadel of the Zharkovian Empire.

  “Enjoy the rest of your morning,” Maksim said, turning toward the door. “I have tasks that need to be accomplished.”

  “Wait... Maksim...”

  He opened the door as if he were ignoring her, ready to leave without another word, but he stopped. And just before stepping out into the hall, he lowered his head and spoke softly.

  “You may think ill toward me, but I do my best.”

  And with that, he shut the door behind him, leaving Carmen alone with the dying fire.

  4

  ANDRE

  The prison food wasn't that bad. All the prisoners got three square meals, which was more than Andre was used to. The threat of violence from some of the more unhinged prisoners was always there, but the same could be said for Andre's old neighborhood. And he actually enjoyed spending time with so many criminals and supervillains. Hearing their stories never grew old, even when he knew they were stretching the truth. Not being able to see the sun was a huge deal for the first few weeks, but Andre grew used to it, and the UV lighting throughout the prison helped. The guards were all terrible and treated him like a piece of dirt, but they were no worse than any of the American Republic police officers or soldiers that walked the streets.

  What really bothered Andre was how weak he felt. The warden of the Pit was a member of the Alliance named Negaton. Some old hippie whose only power was to negate other people's powers. If yo
u were anywhere near him, even the most powerful person was only a mere mortal. This was obviously an issue for the Zharkovs, but the old pacifist talked them into using him as a more humane way of dealing with supervillains. So Negaton spent all his time sitting in his living quarters, in the very center of the prison, neutering the powers of every villain imprisoned with him. He assured the inmates that he was fighting for them, not against them. The public wanted the death sentence. Most of the superheroes did too. It was Negaton that offered his services for a more peaceful resolution. Maybe that was true, but all it meant for Andre was headaches and back pains and a constant lethargic state. He couldn't understand how the general public lived like that. Weak. Powerless. Fragile.

  Yet anytime Andre started to feel bad about his situation, all he had to do was think about Victor. Andre might have been locked up in a power draining prison, but his best friend was dead and he knew he was to blame. He could have taken that gun from Victor. He could have insisted Victor not bring it. He could have tried to save Victor instead of Carmen. He wasn't even sure he had saved her. With no communication with the outside world, he still didn't know the fate of her or Mickey.

  All he knew was Carmen had pulled some strings for him. And it was those very strings that afforded Andre the luxuries he experienced in prison. Somehow, she had managed to get him an open line for anything he needed. Better pillows? Alcohol? A radio? All he had to do was put in the request. It wasn't exactly fast, but he always got what he asked for, which made him a very popular person inside those walls. But how Carmen had managed to grant him this privilege, he never learned. He knew her mother had money, and lots of it, so he figured a deal was struck for her freedom, as well as his supply line. If that were true, he had no complaints.

  The other prisoners treated him like royalty. He had managed to scrounge up an entourage of some of the bigger prisoners to keep him safe. Inside the Pit, a few luxuries was all it took to garner complete devotion. With his small army of henchmen, he almost felt like a supervillain. Almost.

  “Here's the list, Boss,” Vulcão said as he set the sheets of paper down on Andre's desk. “Commander Claw wanted me to tell you thanks for getting him that music.”

  Andre glanced over at the papers as another of his goons tattooed a large skull on his shoulder. It was one of the few benefits of his newfound vulnerability. He had always wanted some ink, and in the span of a few months, his upper body was nearly covered.

  “I mean, I never woulda pegged a South American drug lord with unbreakable claws for a disco fan, but who am I to judge?”

  Vulcão laughed and sat down on the bed. The springs squealed in pain. Vulcão weighed nearly three-hundred pounds, and that was all muscle. Outside the prison walls, his skin was made of lava, but without that power, he was forced to bulk up. At that size, he was intimidating even without the lava.

  Andre snatched the papers off the desk and ran his finger down the list of items. Most of it was the usual stuff. Cigarettes, porn, maybe a newspaper. But he was looking for something specific. A trend he had noticed in the last few weeks.

  “He did it again,” Andre said when he found what he was looking for, tapping his finger on one of the names. “Every Friday, this same guy asks for the weirdest things. Last week it was two bottles of cough syrup. I mean, not that strange if the guy is sick, but the week before that it was four pounds of sea salt. And this week? Three feet of rubber hose.”

  Vulcão tried to peek at the sheet of paper. “Who asks for that kind of stuff?”

  “Just says Lou.”

  Vulcão had to think about it for a few seconds before saying, “Oh! Right. Lou. Lou Baxter. Used to call himself Doctor Chem. He could change the chemical structure of an item into anything he wanted. Bullets turned into mist when they touched him. Bank vault doors turned to water. Whatever he wanted. He was one of the big ones.”

  “I've heard of him,” Andre said. “But I mean, what's he doing with all this stuff?”

  “He's into chemicals,” Vulcão said as he shrugged his basketball-sized shoulders. “Maybe he's mixing up some kind of bathtub meth or something?”

  Andre considered the idea. “I don't think this is a recipe for meth.”

  “I don't know. Never messed around with drugs. Tried robbing a bank once but my lava kept starting the money on fire.”

  Andre kept staring at the list and rubbing his chin as he pondered. “We're gonna have to talk to him. He's smart enough to mix all this stuff up. And he's smart enough not to order it all at once, so he doesn't raise suspicions. But if he's cooking up some kind of drugs, he owes me a cut of the profit.”

  “And if he's dumb enough to get caught, the guards will jump at the chance for an excuse to shut down our little operation. You want me to round up the boys?”

  The goon tattooing his arm wiped the blood and ink from his shoulder and said, “We're all done here, boss.”

  Andre glanced at the clock. “Fine. Let's get this over with before noon. I don't wanna miss lunch.”

  The cell block was full of men hanging around tables, playing cards or chess, or exchanging small talk. The prisoners all stepped to the side as Andre and his entourage of muscle made their way through the crowd. Andre received more than a few nods of acknowledgment as he passed, everyone offering him their silent praise. It felt good. He couldn't deny that. If this was the world he was meant to rule over, so be it. He was okay being the king of villains.

  The group of men that flanked either side of him weren't much more than meathead oafs. They weren't smart and they weren't ambitious, but he had picked them for those very reasons. They would never try to usurp him. They would never double cross him. They would never plot and scheme, because they didn't know how. They liked that Andre told them what to do, and they liked being rewarded for their service. It was a perfect relationship.

  When Andre reached Doctor Chem's cell, he found the old man laying on his bed, holding a thick textbook in his lap. The bar code sticker from the prison library concealed the title, but Andre could see beakers and Bunsen burners on the cover. The old man's cellmate was doing sit-ups on the floor next to him.

  Vulcão stepped into the cell and said, “Beat it, kid. We need to have words with Lou.”

  As the young man nervously exited, Doctor Chem straightened his glasses, dogeared his page, and calmly closed the text book on his lap. As Andre stepped inside, his other two henchmen made a wall of flesh to block the door. Vulcão pulled a chair out for Andre, and Andre took a seat next to the bed.

  “How's it going, Lou? Or do you mind if I call you Doctor Chem? I mean, it sounds so much cooler.”

  The old man sat up straight, glancing around at the other large men. “I haven't been Doctor Chem for many years, boy.”

  “Boy?” Andre glanced up at Vulcão with a smile. “Okay, old man, I'm gonna let that one slide. But from here on out, you're gonna refer to me as Andre, and I'm gonna refer to you as anything I damn well please. Cool?”

  Doctor Chem huffed and rolled his eyes.

  Vulcão slammed his hand down on the end of the bed and said, “The man asked you a question.”

  Doctor Chem let out a sigh and said, “Fine. Sure. I'm not here to fight. I lost the will to do anything like that a long time ago.”

  “Is that so?” Andre asked, leaning forward and tapping his hand on the textbook. “Looks like you haven't lost the will to dabble in the sciences though.”

  Doctor Chem glanced down at the textbook and smiled. “Some loves are never lost.”

  “So, you're a real doctor then?”

  Doctor Chem huffed again. “Of course I am. I received my PhD in chemical engineering from MIT. Back when that meant something. I had a natural talent. Ever since I was young.”

  Andre smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Didn't hurt that you were blessed with a Super Power of Mass Destruction that allowed you to change the chemical makeup of any object.”

  Doctor Chem straightened his glasses. “Yes, well, that's
what the world thought, isn't it? And I was more than happy to keep them in the dark. By the time I ended up in this place, it was a little late to inform the ignorant masses like yourself of the truth.”

  Vulcão slammed his hand down on the bed again. “You call my boss ignorant one more time, and I'll put your head through that wall.”

  “Now just hold on,” Andre said with a smile. “What are you trying to say, Doc? I mean, how am I wrong? You had a super power that allowed you to chemically alter anything you wanted.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did. And I also suppose that the natural inclination of anyone who saw me use my power would be to assume I was born with that power.”

  “So, you weren't born with your power?”

  “Mm,” Doctor Chem said, smiling softly to himself. “Not everyone is as blessed as you. Some of us are self-made men.”

  Andre was intrigued. So intrigued, he had forgotten why he had come to visit the doctor. He just wanted to hear the old man's tale.

  “You're saying you gave yourself super powers?”

  “Glad you finally caught up.”

  Andre glanced at Vulcão again.

  “Gotta say, Doc, not sure I like your attitude.”

  “I'm seventy-nine years old. What are you going to do to me that age hasn't already done? You want to put my head through a wall? Go ahead. End the suffering.”

  “No one is going to hurt you. I'm just... intrigued by your story. I mean, you were one of the greats, back in the day. Your power was... impressive.”

  “I'm not looking for your adoration.”

  “Fine. But you gotta tell me, Doc, how did you give yourself super powers? Magical amulet? Mysterious meteor?”

  “Bah. Nothing like that. It was pure science!”

  “You gave yourself super powers with science?”

  Doctor Chem set the textbook aside and spun himself toward Andre so that his legs were hanging over the edge. “I was always interested in the innovation of chemistry. What kinds of things could be extrapolated from the very break down of chemical components and the reassembly of those components into something... miraculous?”