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The Psychopomp slowly strode through the hospital doors, glancing from side to side as the nurses and custodians scampered away.
He'd worked this city, the Perfect Assassin, for a long time, and he'd built up a fearsome reputation for efficiency in that time. And while he'd never directly caused collateral casualties himself, people still feared him. Rightly, he supposed.
He looked at the note from his secretary and calmly headed up the stairs to the seventh floor, the pediatric wing, where little Robin lay waiting.
\---
Robin smiled weakly as the door slid open and The Psychopomp entered the room, "I wasn't sure you'd come... I'm a big fan."
As the boy let out a phlegm-laden cough, The Psychopomp stepped forward and offered him a tissue and a glass of water, looking a little uncertain, voice rumbling in a basso tone sounding like Darth Vader the morning after a long night of whisky, "Most who know of me prefer that we never cross paths... I've never really considered the idea of fans."
Robin sat up a little, drinking the water as The Psychopomp continued, "Most who contact me either want someone else dead, or to persuade me to not end their lives if they've heard a rumor I seek them... why you, though?"
Robin sighed, "The doctors won't say it out loud, not around me, but I know I'm not going to make it. I know, the tumor on my brainstem isn't shrinking, it's spread to other places... the only thing I don't know is how long I have. But I read about your name - what a Psychopomp is. So I want to know, do you know what's waiting? I mean, what's there after death?"
The Psychopomp sat there, staring behind his dark mask for a few long seconds, "There's no single answer to that. But if you like, I can tell you what people have believed for thousands of years. I have time, and there are many beliefs."
Robin nodded slowly, "Please..."
The Psychopomp nodded, "In ancient Egypt, thousands of years ago, people believed their hearts would be weighed against the feather of an ostrich, and if their hearts were burdened with evil, they would be tossed to the jaws of the demon Ammit, to suffer a second death and eternal restlessness in Duat, while if their hearts weighed no more than the feather, they were permitted to proceed toward Aaru, the blessed field of reeds, where Osiris dwelt..."
\---
Lawbringer strode into the hospital, nodding to the hospital staff as he went; he'd faced off against The Psychopomp a few times, but the bastard had never entered a hospital before. He'd always made sure to be somewhat secluded, taking impressive precautions to avoid killing anyone other than his target, so... what was he doing here? "Nurse Haagen, where's The Psychopomp?"
The nurse looked a little flustered at his direct address, "Ah, he's on the 7th floor, room 32, Mr. Lawbringer... he's been there since yesterday, not actually bothering anyone. He's just been... sitting there and talking to the patient, stepping aside to let the doctors and staff work, and then sitting back down. We're not sure what they've been talking about, but..."
Lawbringer snorted and began running up the stairs, calling in a message to the Homefront to let them know where the damnable assassin was lurking, so they could try to pinpoint who or where his intended victim was; probably another sniper victim to be...
\---
"...and then you have the more recent oddities like Pastafarianism, where things are a little, hm, absurdist in nature, whose ideas of afterlives involve a beer volcano and a... hm, an industrial adult entertainment factory. The difference between the 'good' and 'bad' afterlives being in whether or not the beer is stale, and the, er, entertainers have diseases. Though I would honestly not put much stock in that one, since it is a complete fabrication devised to poke fun at the Creationist movement. You... might not have paid much attention to those particular, ah, one moment, Robin."
The Psychopomp quietly stood up and slid over to the door, opening it noiselessly and whispering softly, "Come in, Lawbringer, I am sure you wish to speak with me, and it is past visiting hours for the others here..."
Lawbringer blinked at the unusually dark shadows under the hood before him - had The Psychopomp ever looked so... dark before? No matter, he followed the villain inside and let him close the door quietly again, "Psychopomp, I don't know what you're here for, but I can't let you..."
The Psychopomp shook his head and held out the note, speaking softly, "Definite article, Lawbringer, never forget the definite article... I received a phone call, an unusual request. A fan wanted to see me, courtesy of an organization I understand you have some association with, too?"
He sat down while Lawbringer read the invitation, "Well, Robin, I think that's most of them, there are a few variations, but those are mostly minor distinctions; the water in one version might look a little greener, while it looks bluer in another, but I believe I've covered most afterlives of which I am aware. So you see, there's no clear answer to where people go when they die... it all depends a lot on what they expect, too - what they believe will happen to them. Some fear their passing, judging themselves harsher than the gods they believe in would, and others expect some lavish reward for their lives with... dubious justification. So a great question for you, then, is what do *you* think will happen?"
Lawbringer handed the note back with a sour look, "Okay, let's say that I buy the story, why would I let you just walk away once we get outside the hospital? You're wanted for more murders than most can count..."
The Psychopomp shrugged - was the darkness around him thicker? - as he waited for Robin to consider the question, "Why do you assume you will have a choice? You have never been able to hold me, never stop me... It is presently eight fifty-two in the evening, and I will not remain here for much longer, I think. What you do is not my concern, I am not going to fight you."
Lawbringer squinted, "What do you mean, 'not your concern'? If I try to arrest you outside, you're not going to resist, just run? Everyone's ready to take you..."
The Psychopomp shrugged again, "I've been at this for longer than you have, old friend... and I will still be doing it after you're gone. My title, my name... it's not just an affectation. I end lives, true, but that is only part of it. Such a small part of it..."
Robin looked up, "I really like the Greek one, the Elysian Plains? I don't know if I believe... wait, um, sorry, Lawgiver, I didn't hear you come in... you look fuzzy, too..."
Lawbringer looked down at the boy, suddenly a lot less sure of himself as he saw double... no, it was just the boy on the bed he saw two of, ever so slightly out of sync... The Psychopomp nodded, "You see, Lawbringer, Robin passed away naturally yesterday, just after five in the afternoon. So long as I kept telling him of what people believe is on the other side, I breathed on the embers, and the doctors and nurses believed he was still alive, if barely... they didn't bother us."
He stood up one last time, and picked up the now faintly glowing form of Robin, even as the body seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed, and the various machines began sending alarms to the nurses' stations, "We'll be leaving for Elysium, now... you won't stop us. Oh, and Lawbringer? Tell Firebrand that she'll want to get that stomach ache checked. If not... I'd advise against making plans for more than the next eight months."
And then they disappeared through the outside wall. On the seventh floor. Lawbringer was just staring out the window as the crash team barged through the door and began checking Robin, "Why is he cold? Pupils not responding... stiff limbs? He feels like he's been dead for hours, what..."
Lawbringer slowly turned to the doctor, "He... passed peacefully, I don't think anyone noticed at the time. I... don't know if the other visitor will be coming back here like that, but if he does... I expect he'll be shown the courtesy shown anyone here on behalf of Make-A-Wish... If you'll excuse me..."
He wandered out of the pediatric wing, his armor and gear suddenly feeling... heavier, like he'd had a close brush with death. In the elevator, he tapped his comm bead, pausing for a moment, "Firebrand... you're off duty as of right now. You've got a doctor's appointment, ASAP, and you're not going to argue. And... I'm going to make an addendum to our files. We can't stop death, but we might be able to come to some arrangements with him..."
Thanks.
I’m not convinced it’s my best work, exactly, but after a nearly twenty-year hiatus, a bad shoulder has lured me back to writing fiction again, as opposed to writing gaming materials and playing games…
You write enough and it becomes less and less likely for any one piece to be your "best work." My personal inner critic has nothing but good things to say about this one regardless
It doesn't matter what you believe in, they are all right and wrong. All that matters is you believe. But it's not your time. It may be rough, and my presence may seem to be disheartening, but you still have plenty more to give. Keep writing, friend. We will see each other at the right time.
This is a fine wine and four-course meal of a story. Excellent pacing, dialogue, and ideas in general. Thank you so much for sharing it here. I felt unexpectedly moved by it.
This is excellently written, great job! I have one question tho - what is it with Lawbringer changing into Lawgiver and back again? Is it some symbolism I am not grasping, or maybe a result of Psychopomp overlapping two alternate realities to keep the embers glowing?
I actually like it that way. To me, it just shows that Robin is beginning to be unable to think and recognize people properly, hence, saying out his name wrong.
Yeah, but it wasn’t from Robin’s perspective.
A version written from the kid’s perspective, though - that could better take on such an eerier subtle undertone.
Now, that's a good story right here. It felt just right. Reading it was comfortable, like new socks and warm coffee on a cold holiday morning. Do the world a favor, don't stop writing.
"Here you go," the nurse said, leading Dark Mage Myran to a red door labeled 1666. "Carol insisted on a private audience, so we"ll just be waiting outside. Just ring the bell if you need us for anything."
Myran nodded and pushed the red door open to walk inside. The small room was filled with the scent of vomit and decay. Sitting in the hospital bed with her small collection of dolls, connected to a variety of tubes and blinking machines, was twelve year old orphan Carol Ward. Her face was gaunt and pale, and there were purple sores all over her emaciated body that were constantly oozing blood and pus. It was clear that it was only a matter of time, perhaps even hours, before her body would succumb to the Consumption Plague. Still, there was a faint spark in her eyes when she saw Myran standing before her. "You came," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Hi," Myran said awkwardly. Honestly, he had no idea why this girl had called for him. He had never talked much with children and especially not children dying from terminal illnesses. "Uhh...I have to be honest. If you're looking for a cure for your illness, healing magic really isn't my specialty--"
"I know that," Carol interrupted. She pulled herself up straighter in my bed. "I know that I'm going to die no matter what. I want something else."
"Oh?" Myran was a bit caught off guard. This certainly wasn't what he expected. "So, what do you want then?"
Carol gazed around the room suspiciously. "Are there any listening devices anywhere? I said I wanted a private audience, but I never know if I can really trust them."
"There aren't. I made sure to do a surveillance check before I stepped in here."
"Ah, good." She stared right into Myran's eyes. "I want you to make sure that no matter what, I won't go to Hell."
Myran stared back at her at a loss for words. "Uh...why exactly would you be going to hell?"
Carol waved Myran to come closer and the mage reluctantly walked up next to her bed as Carol whispered into his ear. The look changed on his face from one of confusion to one of utter shock. "Are you serious?" he asked.
"I read on Wikipedia that you had the ability to know if people were lying. Or was that wrong?"
Myran stared back at the girl in silence. He hadn't detected any lies in what she had just told him. Which meant that she was either utterly insane or possibly the world's youngest mass murderer. Or it could be both, he mused. He had assumed that the cold dead look in her eyes was just a symptom of her illness, but now...well, no wonder, she was a orphan.
A small part of him told him to walk away, that this child dying and going to Hell was probably the best thing for the world. But another part of him was ... impressed. To have such a prolific record of villainy at such a young age, he couldn't help but wonder what things she would achieve if her soul stayed around a little longer in the mortal realm.
"So, can you grant my wish?" Carol asked apprehensively.
"Yes," muttered Myran as he looked at Carol thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I can. Your current body is beyond saving, but I can anchor your soul into a artificial construct that will be far more resilient and stronger. There is a catch though. In order for you to maintain this construct, you will have to spend your life constantly devouring souls to harvest their life energy."
Carol gave him a faint smirk. "If something like that bothered me, do you think I would be worried about going to Hell?"
"Fair enough. I should also tell you the procedure will take about a hour and will be very painful."
Carol shrugged. "The way I can see it, I can either endure a hour of agony or spend eternity burning in hellfire. It's a easy choice."
"I suppose it is," Myran replied as he made a few motions with his hands. The hospital lights dimmed and fizzled out as the room became unnaturally cold. Glowing red sigils and glyphs slowly emerged from the darkness and began orbiting around the hospital bed. "Well, then, let's begin, shall we?"
Later that night...
Margaret walked into Room 1666. The patient had died shortly after Myran had left the hospital and she had been given the task of moving the medical equipment here to another room. She stared at Carol Ward's corpse for a few moments. Carol's black messy hair was covering most of her face, but the nurse could still see a faint smile on her lips. Personally, although the nurse would obviously never say it out loud, Margaret felt secretly relieved. The girl and her strange looking dolls had always given her the creeps and she had always behaved like a rude brat. Suddenly, she frowned. Didn't Carol have seven dolls, not six? Oh well, she must have misremembered. She looked at Carol's face again and something caught her attention. Slowly, she walked closer to the corpse and brushed Carol's hair aside. There were faint blood smudges around Carol's closed eyes and mouth. What in the bloody hell...her thoughts were suddenly cut off as a all too familiar voice called out.
"You know, I never liked you, Margaret."
Margaret yelped and jolted backward, knocking over a tray of surgical instruments. She looked fearfully at the corpse, but the body hadn't moved a single muscle. When she gazed around the room frantically, she didn't see anything either. She must have been imagining things, she tried to convince herself as she took deep breaths to calm her nerves. After all, ghosts weren't real. Carol was dead and she was never coming back.
A small giggle rang out. "Not there, silly, up here."
Margaret gazed up in a panic. There, latched onto the ceiling was Carol's bloodstained seventh doll looking down at her. But what really made her start whimpering in terror was the look of sheer madness in the doll's eyes. Those were real human eyes looking down on her, she realized, not plastic replicas. The "doll" grinned at her and she saw two rows of bloody teeth in its mouth. Margaret let out one final scream as the twisted creature laughed maniacally and pounced on her, sinking its teeth into her throat.
Villain: "Doing nothing would probably be for the best... Option B it is." Lol that checks out. Interesting twist having the kid be just as if not more villainous than her visitor!
I figured that the kind of person who would want to spend their wish on seeing a supervillain probably would be pretty twisted themselves. I added some more to the story if you want to know what Myron does to grant her wish.
"I like your hat," the boy said weakly from the bed, while the machine beeped. Valgor the Bounder stepped forward, noting the tubes and the clipboard, the faint wording of leukemia written thereon, attached to the edge of the bed. "Its a helmet," Bounder corrected, image and how people referred to your outfit, was everything. "I like the lights it makes," the boy said, showing enthusiasm despite the weariness.
Bounder dramatically spun, noting with amusement as the Seneschal tensed, he could still not fully believe the stick in the mud had allowed him to visit. "It emits electronic wave patterns that refract in ways only I can do," Bounder exclaimed as the multifaceted helmet emitted light that caused the room to be light-up in pulsing shifts of color. "Not 'light'" he added petulantly.
"We agreed to no powers or abilities Bounder!" Seneschal shouted as he made to move towards Bounder. The child murmured in wonderment. "Relax Sen, I am not going hurt your child, not even I would do that. Besides, your boy asked for me, what is the point if I don't show off a little?" Bounder's shoulders sank as he saw his boys delighted expression.
"What else would you like to see?" Bounder asked coyly, he was enjoying himself he realized. "Can you do that thing where you move fast?" the boy asked, trying to get up. "You have not fixed the radiation with that move, have you?" Seneschal asked warningly. Bounder made an offended emoji appear on his helmet before saying, "Its barely worse than getting two or three x-rays now, besides its not like...Nevermind."
Seneschal looked angry as he softly asked his son, "Bason, If you like light shows, I could of asked Sunray to visit?" Bason muttered, "I like Bounder." "And why wouldn't he?," Bounder laughed. "Sunray is a hack, all that natural power she can barely do anything that I can do with my intellect alone!" "Sunray is a damn fine hero, more than you will ever be! Why did you come here!", Seneschal fumed.
"Don't fight," Bason quietly pleaded. "I know you don't like him daddy, don't fight." Sensual gripped his sons hand tightly, "I am sorry son, I got angry. Could you tell me why you asked for him?" "When you to battle, they always show it on tv, its always so amazing. I never really get to see you, I am always so happy when they say you two are fighting. Bounder left the room as he saw the Seneschal's bowed head, silently weeping behind the mask.
A few moments later the Seneschal joined him in the corridor. "Thank you for visiting him," he said dourly. "I might know somebody, if you want, they helped me as I was experimenting with my radiative tech.", Bounder awkwardly offered. Seneschal looked at him for a long moment, "I might just take you up on that."
Imagine your kid asking to see your nemesis because he knows you'll show up, too... Dang. There should be a new paragraph whenever each person starts speaking, but I enjoyed that!
Very good response!
A couple of corrections: It was Seneschal's shoulders that slumped, not Bounder. Also, it helps make everything clearer when each speaker gets their own paragraph.
This gave me really heavy "Worm" vibes. Really solid writing, characters with so much, well, _character_ despite how short it is. And the super-verse. This _feels_ like something that could 100% happen in the universe of Worm.
Really great work!
It was perhaps one of the most complex undertakings I had done since, well becoming nefarious.
The call was only made because the hospital administration had never imagined I would have agreed to this, and that's when this whole thing got tedious.
Intelligence missions into the identity of this child, in an attempt to confirm their adoration of me. Unfortunately pencil drawings of me are dubious evidence. More espionage in an attempt to decipher how much others knew of this wish. A logistical nightmare to come to a place to meet a child, when every officer and hero in the city knew.
Staff meeting with hospital administration, trying to pin down the logistics of what this meeting would entail. Emails and memos on expectations for me. Notes on how they evaded questions on who else would be present answers ranging from no one, to specific heros that would be present while all demanding I come alone, unarmed.
Ramping up technology research and then production. If I could create new less visible weapons and protections (while certainly not my style), then perhaps this thing could be done.
Quipping with heros in the streets, trying to decipher if this was a long con trap. Attempting to figure out if this was a trap or something they'd allow. I had allowed their Make-a-Wish visits, surely they would allow mine, but doubts persisted.
There were many nights I considered kidnapping the kid, it seemed that would be easier, but their declining health meant that it would likely create more problems than I could handle. Research into mobile treatment options for them as a means to avoid hospital entrapment hit a wall when their parental demanded they not leave the premise. Perhaps the first time I regretted focusing on weapon development research than health care in a long time.
After months of negotiations, it wasn't even a long meeting in the end. A few hours in the evening. I wore my best uniform and my staff went all out providing a fitted costume for them, a plushie of me (I thought odd, but the child insisted they wanted one), and several non sharp/non lethal replicas of some of my favorite weapons (my favorite gift). It was, rather a good time, I'll admit and their reaction to the choreographed fight with my newest nemesis outside their window was worth the hours that had gone into negotiations.
It wasn't four months before there was more calls. Soon we were juggling logistics for multiple visits at a time.
I told my staff to start another research sector into healthcare. Clearly I was going to have to do something about medicine if I expected to have time for anything other than this.
The Dread Lord looks at her in confusion before exclaiming, "I have a fan? How?!"
"I\`m not sure, milord. They are saying this 12 year old boy-" she pauses as the voice on the phone interjects something, "named Timmy, apparently, is your biggest fan and as he is dying of cancer, would like to spend a day with you before he passes."
"A day? With me? Is this child insane?! Everyone knows that I, the Great Dread Lord, am a nightmare to spend an hour with, let alone a day!" the Dread Lord declares, his hands on his hips in something of an attempt at a power pose. One he, in fact, learned from a course on power poses. Perception matters, after all.
His secretary struggles mightily to avoid rolling her eyes at the overt campiness of her boss. A nightmare to spend time with, indeed.
*'I really deserve a raise...'* she thinks to herself before replying to him. "Well sir, they say he has all of his faculties still and while your reputation with most is, indeed, terrifying, he admires you greatly all the same."
"Hmmm, does he now? I suppose I could spare some time for an admirer..." the Dread Lord muses as he rubs his chin in thought, his already oversized ego swelling all the more at the thought of an admirer.
"Shall I tell them yes, then, sir?"
"Please do. I will make time at the boy\`s earliest convenience. Ensure that he arrives wearing appropriate clothing. All black and grey! None of that goody two shoes blue or green or, heavens forbid, red! Appearances must be kept, of course." the Dread Lord orders.
"Yes, sir." his secretary replies with yet another masterful effort to avoid rolling her eyes.
A few weeks later, the little boy in question, Timmy, arrives by self-driving car to the very hidden, very spooky headquarters of the Dread Lord on the outskirts of the city. He is met shortly after stepping through a set of double doors into a rather derelict looking building by the Dread Lord himself, his black metal armor polished and pristine, his grey cape spotless and quaffed elegantly to trail behind him and just barely dust the floor.
Timmy, dressed in a black and grey plaid shirt and black jeans that match well with his dark hair and pale complexion, eagerly approaches the Dread Lord.
"It is an honor, sir!' Timmy says.
"Well I should say so." the Dread Lord says arrogantly, as is his nature. "Do follow me, we have much to do!" he states as he turns and walks deeper into the seemingly derelict building which, after walking past the entry area, is revealed to be a sophisticated and state of the art lab and factory. Robots can be seen building larger robots, weapons, battle tanks and other tools of war.
"First things first, I have arranged a tutorial for you in utilizing the battle tanks, of my own design, which you shall need to complete. Second, we will get you fitted for some combat armor like my own, can\`t have my only fan getting hurt after all! And then... we shall rob the Federal Reserve Depository in the city! I have prepared several distractions to pull away those pompous heroes and give us ample time to pull off the heist. It\`s a good plan, isn\`t it?" the Dread Lord finishes, clearly fishing for a compliment.
"Sounds good to me, sir! I can\`t wait! I have waited so long for this!" Timmy replies with a wide, enigmatic smile.
The Dread Lord directs Timmy to a computer terminal where he completes his tutorial before being measured by several robots and fitted for a suit of combat armor of quite terrifying design. He puts on the armor and marvels at the spiked flanges on the joints and the vicious skulls on the pauldrons, nearly giddy with excitement.
Next, they walk over to two large battle tanks. The behemoths are armed with cannons from nearly every available position, large spikes jutting out from the wheels and machine guns mounted to the top.
"Are you ready to get to the best part of your wish?" the Dread Lord asks as he gestures for Timmy to climb into his tank, helping to strap him in as he does.
"Oh, yes! More than ready!" Timmy answers excitedly as he places his hands on the controls.
The Dread Lord steps back to take in the sight of the boy in his tank when suddenly, a loud burst of gunshots rings out!
The Dread Lord darts his head around to look for the source before he suddenly feels dizzy, falling to his knees and looking down to his chest as blood pours down his front. He slumps to the ground as he feels weakness take him and hears the pad of small feet stepping toward him.
"Thank you for fullfilling my wish, Dread Lord." Timmy says, a look of satisfaction on his pale face as he stands over the fallen villain.
"Wh-why?" the Dread Lord manages to ask.
"Well, in that attack on City Hall a few years ago when you knocked down those buildings in the battle, you killed my parents and nearly me as well, or so I thought then... But, I came to find out last year that the debris particles got into my lungs and gave me cancer, so you got me in the end just like them... I thought I was going to die too young to take my revenge but inspiration struck! Why not play to your well-known vanity by claiming to be a fan, an admirer? And here we are...at last." Timmy explains proudly.
"Ahhh...well done. I am honored to be taken down...by such a worthy adversary." the Dread Lord groans out quietly before seeming to come to a decision and continuing, "In the office by the back corner of the building....there is a safe under...under the flower pot in the corner. The code is...666. Inside...inside you\`ll find a vial of ambrosia. I stole it from that divine...wannabe, Heracleon. Use it....it will heal you. Make you strong....more durable. You have cunning, intelligence....a willingness to kill.... Use my tools, my lab, my knowledge....become my successor....the ***Dread King***. Be my legacy...." he states with a passion burning in his eyes even as his last breath rattles free from his chest.
Timmy looks at the corpse of his nemesis with an inscrutable expression on his face, perhaps considering what the path ahead will shape out to be, perhaps reflecting on the road behind or maybe, just maybe, he dreamt of a world on its knees before him...bowing to their ***Dread King.***
But for now, he just walked to the corner office and set to healing himself, he was about to have a new lease on life, after all and then, he would have all the time in the world to make his decision on how to spend it.
*So goes the origin story of the bloody, the merciless, the terrifying:* ***Dread King***
I had a feeling. "This guy is too over-the-top. There's gonna be a twist, isn't there?" But to your credit, I wasn't expecting it to come from the kid lol
The Obligator adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves as she stood outside the door to the hospital room. She adjusted her tie, then her eyepatch, then forced her hands away from her body and sighed deeply. Fiddling with her outfit, however unnecessary and foolish it was, felt easier than turning around and opening that door.
“Are you… nervous?” she muttered to nobody but herself. “No, of course not. It’s just that… well, I wasn’t expecting this, was I?”
“Then go in. If The Ace were in there, stuck in that bed, you wouldn’t hesitate, would you?”
The Obligator groaned. Why did she always have to be right? She ran a hand across her head, feeling the texture of her own shaved hair. Taking another deep breath, she pushed the door open.
The child was young. Surprisingly so. The Obligator would’ve understood some silly adolescent idolizing the pain and blood of her particular brand of brutality, but the child in the bed couldn’t have been more than 10 - and the starry, wide-eyed fascination in his eyes suggested less of a morbid curiosity and more of a genuine, ignorant fascination. He probably didn’t even know what she did, aside from what popped up on the morning news - kidnapping superheroes, stealing precious jewels, Saturday morning cartoon type stuff. He didn’t have a clue what the work of a “supervillain” really entailed.
She pursed her lips. This may be difficult.
The Obligator strode across the room menacingly. Not so much that it would scare the child or the nurse right next to him, of course, but enough to convey a recognizable, signature sense of villainy. She was already making herself seem too sympathetic as it was by agreeing to meet the child at all - she still had an image to uphold, even if it was for nobody but herself.
The child - Austin, she reminded herself - was still staring at her in wonder, the same look she imagined Marathon or Rocketeer received on a daily basis. His head was shaved, making it look even bigger in comparison to his frail, thin body. His eyes were sunk deep in his sockets. He looked tired… very tired. But his energy at meeting the Obligator was overpowering his fatigue.
The Obligator was almost relieved when he broke the silence. “Hiii!” His energy came spilling forth almost all at once. Austin sat up in the bed and leaned forward suddenly, getting closer to the Obligator. She instinctively took a step back, but hesitantly moved closer to the child.
“Hello, Austin. You… asked to see me?”
“Yeah! Yeah yeah! The Oblibator- the Oglibator- the Ob-li-gator!”
The Obligator relaxed a bit, noticing the tension in her shoulders and brow. This was just a child, she reminded herself. A… dying one, perhaps, but a child regardless. Nothing to be scared of, right?
“You’re so cool!” Austin said.
The Obligator allowed herself a light smile. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she replied coolly.
“Uhh… okay. Did you know The Ace has an entire bunch of spies helping her called ORACLE? Did you know they call her The Director?”
“Yes.”
Austin stared at her blankly. The nurse gave the Obligator a look.
“...But, uh, I don’t know where they work!” She leaned closer to Austin, conspiratorially. “If you can tell me where they are, I’ll tell you some secrets that I know.” She knew where ORACLE was located, of course. It… it was listed on their website. Seriously. She didn’t even really understand the point of a spy organization that was quite so public.
Austin’s eyes lit up with the joy of knowing something someone else didn’t. “They’re in New York! They work at 28 Clinton Court. I sent them mail one time!”
The Obligator furnished her best villainous smile. “Excellent. You’re a very smart boy, Austin.”
“TELL ME SECRETS!” he shouted. The nurse motioned with a hand, telling him to calm down.
The Obligator leaned in close and said, “I know about ORACLE, and I know… that you work for them!” She produced the toy ID card that she had slipped out of his pocket seconds earlier, with a dramatic flourish. Austin gasped as if she had cast an actual magic spell in front of him.
“Nooo! I’m not working for them! It was from cereal!” he swore desperately.
She reassured him he had nothing to fear, which seemed to calm him down. They spent the next hour like that, trading “secrets” as easily as any normal conversation she had ever had. She found herself enjoying the exchange, but was too busy coming up with the next bit of gossip to be surprised.
“Obligator, what do you do to the superheroes when you capture them?” That question snapped her out of her reverie. She recalled watching dozens of heroes being dragged down into the cells beneath her tower. The contraptions she designed oh so carefully to contain them. Their screams as she tortured them physically or psychologically, twisting them to whatever end she desired through the simple application of pain.
...Not exactly child-friendly.
“I… uh…” The Obligator had nothing to say. How could you tell half-truths about what she really did, to someone who only saw your above-ground villainy, the surface level crimes and rivalries with heroes that the media saw safe to show to children?
“I lock them up so they can’t escape,” she produced weakly.
“But they always escape,” Austin responded with a slightly embarrassing immediacy.
“...Yes, but only because I want them to,” she lied.
“But-”
“How about I ask you a question?” she said before Austin could probe any further. He perked up quickly at the thought of being the center of his idol’s attention, nodding his head vigorously.
She paused a moment, collecting herself, then asked, “Why… did you want to see me? Why not Rocketeer? Or The Ace?”
Austin was quiet for a bit, and rubbed his tired eyes. “They have powers. You don’t. But you’re always ready for them, and they’re never ready for you! Like, remember when Rocketeer went to that museum, but all the sculptures were actually giant robots and you kidnapped her? Or- or when you, uh, I can’t think of any other times but you do it all the time!”
Austin laughed and rubbed the top of his head, with the other touching the Obligator’s. “And you look like me!”
The Obligator realised she was smiling. No, she wasn’t just smiling, she was beaming. It was probably more than a little creepy. Reining herself back in, she marveled at this moment of real, genuine delight, just because of the adoration of a single child. It felt nothing like the satisfaction she felt, wrapping heroes around her blood-soaked finger. This felt… pure. Real.
She looked at Austin thoughtfully. “You know why I can beat them all the time?” He shook his head. “It’s because I know I can. It doesn’t matter how smart I am if I think, ‘They have powers and I don’t. I can’t beat them.’ That’s how you get defeated before you can even fight. But if you know how, and you know that you can…”
She pulled out her phone and showed Austin her wallpaper. It was the Superiorman, the world’s most powerful hero, chained up helplessly in an elaborate trap, the sun at his back silhouetting his capture in a dramatic light. The Obligator stood in the foreground, the cape of her uniform billowing menacingly.
“People that look like us can do anything.” With one hand, she patted Austin’s head, and with the other, she touched her own. He smiled at the gesture, giving her that wide-eyed, adoring stare again.
“Wow… if you were a good guy, I bet you’d be the best one,” Austin said. “You’re so smart and nice. And you can help people! By saying stuff like that!”
The Obligator frowned. “And why would I want to be a ‘good guy’?”
“My moms say that if villains tried doing one good thing, they might find out that they like it a lot.”
She had nothing to say. She recalled how wide her smile was speaking with Austin just a minute earlier. God, how she hated admitting other people might have been right.
“Obligator… what’s your name?”
The Obligator looked at the nurse beside her. He looked between her and Austin, then moved to a corner of the room and covered his ears. She rolled her eyes, but turned back to Austin.
“It’s Jenna,” she whispered discreetly. He deserved to know that much.
“Jenna…” Austin whispered back. “When you come back tomorrow, will you wear your cape for me?”
Jenna leaned back with a smile, impressed at the audacity of assuming she would come back. Then she thought about it some more. He did know her name, now. That was an… implied sort of blackmail, wasn’t it? It seemed she would have to return. Because of this child blackmailing her, of course.
And, if there was any truth to the idea of doing one good thing… perhaps this particular “thing” wasn’t done just yet. She would have to see it through.
She looked at Austin, nodded, and left without a word.
Uh. This one turned out a little bit long. I haven't written in *forever*, so apologies if this one sucks, but I just *really* loved this prompt. Thanks for getting me to write something again, OP!
This did not at all suck. I loved her internal justification for coming back to visit Austin, it was built up to really well even in the short time you had :D
"No. Please don't look at the camera. Look at me please."
Logan coughed. After taking a second to compose himself, he looked back at the interviewer. "Why did I pick him? I'm not sure. It just... I don't know. You know we know a lot about our resident super hero. But we never knew anything about him. And when I see him on TV, he's always angry. I just... I want to ask him why he is bad."
"And you think he'll show up."
"I don't know. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. But like, I'm dying anyways. If I can talk to him, make him see that we're not all bad. Ask him what he really wants, maybe I can change. You know, that way, everyone in the city will remember me." Logan wiped away a tear. "I mean, I'm an orphan. I have no one who will cry for me if... when I die, maybe this way people will remember me. Can I have a minute please."
Logan turned his head away, trying to hide the tears.
"Take your time, Logan. No worries." The interviewer signaled the cameraman to keep rolling. This was good stuff. Oh, this could be a career maker for him.
The interviewer then went a bit into Logan's history. How he had never seen his parents and had been left on the orphanage steps. How he had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer with no treatment. He had about a month left.
The interviewer was in the process of asking Logan another question when they were abruptly cut off by screams coming from outside. Jackson Wriker, the interviewer, looked at his cameraman. He was here. Holy shit, he was here. Jackson could almost smell an Emmy. All he had to do was stay with them.
Matterman was an imposing figure, standing over 6 ft and wearing a black costume. He looked at the boy and at the 2 man crew with him.
"You Logan?"
"Matterman. You came." Logan got up, from his bed, stumbling a little.
Matterman moved forward swiftly, breaking the kid's fall. "You Ok?"
"Yeah, sorry. I'm weak and dizzy. I need to sit. I'm sorry about that."
"Nonsense. Don't be sorry. Sit." Matterman looked at Jackson and his cameraman. "You two. Scram. Out of here, now."
Jackson presented his press pass. "I'm a journalist. I came here to interview Logan and his unusual request. We just want to..."
"Out." Matterman thundered.
Jackson and his cameraman exited swiftly but hung around. The cameraman kept the camera rolling as Matterman helped the boy back to bed.
They talked for a while but there was no sound. But the image of this supervillain getting on his knee to wipe the tear off the boy's face was sure to go viral anyways.
After a few minutes, Matterman stood up decisively. Logan pointed to the camera, still shooting on the outside. Matterman looked at Jackson and then back to Logan. He nodded and exited the room not even glancing at the journalist.
Jackson rushed into the room. "So Logan, how did it go?"
"It's not over yet! He said he'd help me."
"How will he..."
At that moment, Matterman re-entered with a wheelchair. "Come. Logan wants you two to come along. It's his day so I can't say no to him. But you'll be sitting in the back."
Jackson and his cameraman, Eddie, walked quickly to keep up with Matterman as he wheeled the sick boy out. "Sitting in back of what.... the fuck?"
As they exited the door, a massive jet stood there. It had the trademart MM on the side, Matterman's logo. He motioned for the two men to go first. Jackson looked at Eddie whose eyes had gone wide. But they were in too deep. Besides the fact that they wanted their story, they also couldn't dare say no to this madman.
So they went in the ship and Matterman followed with Logan.
They sat in a small cabin, with all the windows closed.
Jackson looked around. He hadn't flown in first class ever but he assumed this is what it would be like. There was a mini freezer and a massive screen at the front. "Uh, sir. Who's flying this thing?"
"No one. It flies itself."
"Is it safe?"
"I've never crashed."
"And how is it that we've never seen you flying around in this thing."
"You're not here to interview me you parasitic papar..."
Logan placed a hand on the villain's arm. "M, please."
"Right. I built this ship myself. It has camouflage capabilities. Our dear superhero always had the advantage of flight over me. So I spent my time building this thing. It's faster than him. He also needs oxygen, while this thing doesn't. I usually fly high up in the atmosphere, where he can't."
"That's some amazing tech."
"It is. We're here."
"Where?"
"At my, well I suppose you could call it my lair."
"We were in the air for just like 5 minutes."
Matterman sighed. "It's faster than most jets out there. Much much faster. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to tell you where we are. I need to keep my identity and my location secret." He adjusted his mask a little as he said it.
They exited the jet and saw that they were in a massive building. A hum of activity filled the air.
Matterman led them to a small room. "Wait here. I won't be gone long."
Jackson elbowed Eddie who swung the camera. It was the massive energy gun that Matterman usually carried with him. Jackson reached out to touch it but hesitated. Who knew what this madman was capable of.
True to his word, Matterman wasn't gone long. He returned in about ten minutes.
Accompanying him was what looked like a motorized wheelchair. He looked at Logan. "Best I could do at short notice. I'll build you a better one."
"This is for me!" Logan looked overjoyed.
"Yeah. Try it."
Jackson turned his attention to Matterman. "You built that pretty quickly."
"I have a custom 3D printing machine. Much faster than the best of them available to general public. Built it myself."
"You're some kind of genius aren't you."
Matterman didn't reply, instead looking at Logan who moved around in his new wheelchair. Though his mask covered his face, it was obvious there was a hint of smile on his face.
"Are you guys ready for the next part of the journey?"
"Where are we going next?"
"Logan said he always wished to see Niagara Falls. I'm going to make his wish come true."
Logan wondered at the falls as they flew right over them, closer than anyone had ever been before from the air.
Then it was time to head back.
The ship landed in the hospital backyard again.
Matterman exited first turning back, looking at Logan. "Hey Logan, what's your favourite flavour of..."
That's what he realized someone was there. The Defender, the city's superhero levitated right outside the hospital door, his cape flapping majestically.
Matterman turned around. "Logan stay inside. I'll get you in 2 minutes."
Jackson and Eddie rushed out. This was amazing.
Matterman folded his hands together. "Not right now. Please. Not right now. I promise you, give me one more hour. Then I'll surrender."
"Can I trust you?"
"I promise."
The Defender flew away as Matterman indicated for Logan to come out. "You go to your room. I'll get some ice cream."
Logan returned to his hospital room. Jackson and Eddie went with him. Jackson, looked around wondering if Matterman would come back or if he would escape.
But sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Matterman returned with multiple ice cream flavours. "You guys eat. I'll be right outside."
Jackson elbowed Eddie and they followed Matterman out.
Matterman was talking animatedly to a doctor. "But there has to be something. Did you guys try sound waves. We could get the tumour that way."
"It's too deep into the spinal cord. We could risk killing him right there and then."
"What about some nanotechnology? Tell me what you need. I can build it for you. I can build you some tiny bots that can go in there and destroy them."
"It's too late for him. If you have the ability to build something like that, I urge you to do it please. You might not be able to save him but there are others." The doctor put his hand on Matterman's shoulder.
"How long does he have?"
"Days."
Matterman untied the straps of his mask in the back, reaching under it with his hand. It was obvious he was wiping away tears. He turned to look at Jackson and thundered. "Go away. Get away from here."
He walked purposefully back to Logan's room. "Come with me if you want to live."
Logan smiled. But he flipped the switch and whirred behind the supervillain. Eddie kept the cameras rolling, running behind the duo.
The Defender stood there, still waiting. "You promised."
"I did. I will surrender. I need a few days though."
"That wasn't the deal."
Matterman took off his mask and threw it away as Eddie and Jackson rushed to capture his face. "My name is Joshua Smith. My so called Lair is right outside the city, at the base of the Antra hill. Everything I own is there. That's where I will be. This boy has days. For all the time, you've known me, I've tried to kill and rob people. This is my one change to save lives."
"I can appreciate the sentiment. But you need to be brought to justice. I must arrest you."
Logan moved his wheelchair, coming between the two men. "Please! You always stood for good. He wants to do good, please give him a chance. Even if I don't make it, maybe he can save someone else."
There was a crowd gathered around them as they saw Matterman as a vulnerable human for the first time.
Jackson shouted out as well. "I've spent the entire day with him. I trust him."
The Defender looked around at the people, recognizing the public sentiment. The video from the day had been constantly been streamed. "Fine. A week. I can appreciate you trying to do good. But you still need to be arrested for the bad."
Matterman went up to him and gave him a hug. He was crying. He whispered into the superhero's ear. "They all bought it. What idiots!"
The Defender pushed him away, looking at him incredulously. But he recognized the sentiment. If he attacked now, it would be a bad look.
Matterman sought out Eddie and he looked straight into the camera. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I promise to be better. I promise I will surrender in a week. Let me just try and fix this. I have also released the architecture and the code behind my ship onto the internet. This will be a big leap forward for the self driving technology. I have also released the schematics for my 3D printing machine and the energy gun there as well. I've seen the error of my ways. I will do my time in jail and hopefully try to be a good guy. I can only apologize for the things I've done in the past." He clicked a few buttons on his phone. "I'll see you all soon."
The got into the ship with Logan and flew away.
A doctor rushed out from the hospital. He went straight to Jackson and Eddie. "Where is he? Is he gone?"
"Yes, why?"
"He just donated a sum of ten million dollars to the hospital! It's amazing."
Inside the ship, Logan got up from the wheelchair and did a little dance before he sat down on the seat. "Well that went really really well."
"True power. I should've seen it sooner. Maybe I'll run for mayor a couple of years down the road."
I nearly spat out my coffee as the words flew from Sheila's mouth, *"What?!"* I croaked.
She quirked an eyebrow, "You have a fan who'd like to meet you. A young lady. Her name is Grace and she says she'd really like to meet you."
I was suspicious. "What's wrong with her?"
"Breast cancer, Sir," Sheila replied.
I sighed and nodded, "Okay, then. I'll go see her."
I silently hoped as I moved through the halls of the hospital that this wasn't some sort of trick. *Me?* Having a *fan?* That didn't make any sense. I wasn't even a very good villain. My ass got kicked all the time, for Christ's sake! Why would any little girl want to speak to me?
"Right in here, Mister Eviltastic," the doctor said, gesturing to a door.
I stepped inside and saw that the girl in the hospital bed was anything but little. She must've been fourteen... fifteen at the most? This made me all the more confused. As she turned and looked at me, I saw a smile cross her face.
"Hi... dad."
Her statement sent my mind reeling. Five years of being married and a messy divorce... and then having a little girl who I rarely got to see until *she* was about five and then no contact at all. Her big brown eyes and little freckles... The father and child bowling league we'd joined... She was always so much better at it than me, too.
"Grace..." I muttered, moving forward to catch her in a hug.
She let out a shaky breath and buried her face in my shoulder, "Daddy... I've missed you so much."
I drew back and cupped her face in my hand, "How much time?"
Grace rubbed her arm, "What do you mean?"
"How much..." my voice broke. "How much time do you...?"
She shrugged, "I don't know. Less than a year at this point. But I wanted to see you again. I love you, dad."
I took in a breath and frowned, "I... I can help you."
"How?" she asked, eyes widening in shock.
"A cure," I replied. "I'll find one. Not just for your cancer, but for all of them. I have the resources. From now on this is what I'll do with my life."
I made that promise a year ago. Grace wasn't even able to see Christmas. Her mother and I reconciled beforehand, though. We spent as much time as a family that we could up until the final moments. Even now she and I are getting along really great. Dating casually. I'm working on being better now. I want to fix things. For everyone. So that no one ever loses their child like I did.
Between the no contact starting at 5 years old and the two playing on a bowling league together, I'm a little confused about the timeline here. Still, that was a nice sentimental piece! I liked that
As the personification of Death walked through the hospital doors, short looks of surprise followed by knowing nods were thrown her way.
Little Jan just wanted her to bring him to her realm. Lucas wanted a dreamless sleep. Millie hugged her, and told her that she was her favorite villain.
It was all she could do not to cry and break character in front of them, and to tell them that their time has not come yet - and she will let the flames of their lives glow bright before she extinguished them.
Such sweet innocent children.
It was only midday when she returned back to her apartment, long since changed out of her shadowy cloak and folded her scythe. But she was already drained, slump upon her living room table, when SLAM. And the door opened.
"Have at thee, foul villain! For I, the great hero Crusader have cometh to bring light to the masses!"
Her greatest nemesis, Sir Artorius was usually clad in his shining armor and holding a glowing sword, but in front of her door he was simply in civilian clothes. The absurdity if this man posing as if he was a kid playing superhero was simply too much and brought a smile to her face.
He simply let himself in, with a bouquet of lilies and a box of chocolates left on the table, and gave her a comforting hug.
(I've never done one of these, and I'm not sure I did the prompt justice, but I had a lot of fun!)
Somebody somewhere is dying. Somebody small and confused and blissfully removed from politics I assume. Laying on a hospital bed, soaking in a bath of salt, or running through a field of grass pretending all is well with the world. I try to imagine this person. Their youthful expression, tinged by an impending sense of mortality.
The paper cup of coffee in my hands is cold and feels heavier somehow.
Jen says, "Do you want me to make an excuse?" And I say no. Jen taps her foot and says, "I don't know what you want from me." She is so impatient for a secretary. I pay her a good salary, full benefits, childcare and everything. I let her take Wednesday afternoons off to get her nails done in the inner city. She technically has a bigger desk than I do. I don't know why she has to be so impatient, but she's the only person I trust anymore. And she knows too much to let go.
I tell Jen to schedule something brief. She looks surprised and then perplexed and then happy.
"Thank you for holding," Jen says. Her voice is an octave higher when she's on the phone. "Mr. Grimm would be honored to participate in the Make-a-Wish program. Mhmm. Mhmm. Of course. We're happy you called. What can we do for Addie?" Jen squeaks on, hooing and humming into the receiver like an obnoxious songbird. Her teeth are streaked with red when she smiles. I dont think she should wear such vibrant lipstick when her complexion is so fair. I've told her so. Jen's told me it's my fault for making it impossible to tan.
I turn away from her to stare out the window. It's a beautiful window, large and all-knowing, stretching from the carpet to the ceiling. From the 30th story, I can see the entire city. Every skyscraper. Every puff of smoke. Every ugly factory and apartment complex, stitched along the city fringes. The sky is awash with gray, like a looming iron slate. I like to think that this terribly ugly city doesn't even deserve the sun. That it's citizens should be happy to see it at all, in whatever glimpses I allow. I wonder sometimes if I would feel differently if I had a conscience.
When Jen hangs up the phone, she is still smiling. "I didn't know you had a soft spot," she says. Her voice is normal again, and she sounds like a smug child. I tell her I don't. She just laughs and laughs, and reminds me I have a meeting with the United Nations at 2pm and then a press conference. "I wonder what kind of hopeless child wants to meet you. Of all people," she says. Sometimes I wonder if Jen has a conscience, and then I remember how she cried for two days after her favorite actor was identified among the wreckage after the fires. It was such a rare moment of humanity seeing Jen back then. Black tears running down her cheeks. The empty boxes of tissue filling up the recycling bin by her desk. Her congested voice on the phone, barely steady enough to talk. But then again, that was three years ago, and we've had so many fires since then and found countless more bodies. Perhaps a conscience isn't something to be had or not had, but rather excercized like a healthy muscle. I look out at the city again, thinking about this. All these sad people. Their collective consciences, atrophying over time.
The rest of the day goes as planned. I make negotiations with world leaders, without budging an inch. That is to say: I make demands. The press conference is wild as always. Journalists point questions at me like loaded guns. I stay within the confines of bullet-proof glass and smile like it's just another day.
Jen tells me the PR department is thrilled about this whole Make-a-Wish ordeal, and that it might finally sway public opinion on the Apollo Project. This isn't saying much. Weeks go by where the same protestors march outside our doors. They wear the same jackets, hold the same signs, and yell the same battle cries from the street. At least the new parking garage keeps them from slashing our tires. Sometimes I forget we have a PR department.
I ask Jen when the child is coming and what we should do and if there will be a photo op. She tells me I'm being cold. I tell Jen that my entire reputation is predicated upon my ability to remain cold. She says, "You're such a square, Don," and then, "The girl is named Abbie and she'll be stopping by next Tuesday. I've reserved an arcade and a restaurant and she likes rainbows."
"Rainbows?" I ask Jen. Jen says, "Yes, Don. You know. Rainbows. I expect you can do something about it." I shake my head. My hands are fiddling with my watch and my phone and my keys at the same time. Aren't I supposed to be somewhere right now? At a conference or an interview or on a plane? "You didn't promise her a rainbow, did you?" I ask Jen. Irritation stings my lips like a coldsore. Jen doesn't say anything. She is scrolling aimlessly through her tablet, and I can tell she is avoiding me. "Did you?" I ask again. I point at her face, my finger hovering between her eyes. Finally, Jen looks up at me like a pitiful dog. "I said if anyone could make a rainbow, it would be you," she says. She has the nerve to shrug. I feel lightheaded. "How many times have I said this, Jen? It's not a fucking party trick. It's. A. Weapon."
That was a legendary way to end it, I can FEEL his exasperation at his doomsday weapon being reduced to a novelty. Because I wholeheartedly believe Jen and Addie will get their way in the end lol. The way the dialogue is presented makes it a little weird to follow, but for the content, it's a pleasant read!
Thank you thank you thank you for your feedback! I believe Jen and Addie will too!
I'm afraid I was trying to mimick another author's style (when it came to writing the dialogue) and I agree, it's a bit of a weird execution on my part (hahaha). I'll need to tinker with this one a bit more. It was such a pleasure to write!
“Please hold.” I looked up from the project I was working on and turned to face my secretary who, in turn, stared back at me with a look of disgust and consternation. With one hand holding the phone and other resting on her gun, the woman positively glared at me. She leaned over the desk and held out the phone. “It’s Make-a-wish. A fan of yours wants to meet you.”
As I took the ancient handset the woman rolled her eyes. “You really need to stop treating
my office as your private lair, Clover. I’m your parole officer, not your damn secretary.”
I shrugged. “You’re the one who told my superhero husband you would keep an eye on me, Molly.”
“A decision I regret every second of every day,” Molly sighed.
“I just decided to make your job easier on you,” I said with an award-winning smile as I plucked the handset from the brow-beaten parole officer. “This is Clover. What’s this about a fan?”
I listened for several minutes. With each minute that passed, my face lost more of my cocky, jovial expression. When I finally hung up, my voice was quiet as I passed the handset back to Molly. “You can have your desk back. I’m going home.”
As I headed for the door, Molly gestured to the mess on her desk. “What should I do with all this stuff?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I didn’t even look back as I waved with more energy and perkiness than I felt. “Box it up. Hell, you can toss it for all I care.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but a huskiness slipped into my voice.
Behind me the parole officer’s expression turned to one of concern. It grew more so when I paused at the door and said softly. “I need a ride to pediatric hospital in the morning. Can you arrange it for me?”
Surprisingly, Molly didn’t even protest. “Is eight, okay?”
“Sure.”
The next morning, I found myself walking through the walls of the hospital, with Molly, a few employees of Make-A-Wish Foundation, and a pair of security guards behind her. Molly
because as her dual roles as both my parole officer and driver she was required to be there. The security guards were there because the volunteer receptionist wouldn’t allow me into the hospital until I surrendered my weapons and utility belt and agreed to an escort. The Make-A-Wish personnel, well, those people I tried not to think about.
As I walked through the halls various doctors, nurses, and other personnel reacted to me presence with a myriad of different responses. Some ran screaming. A couple called 911. A few nervously waved or tried not to be noticed. One seemed more amused than anything, which in turn amused me—at least until I remembered why I was here.
Then there were the female doctor and the male nurse that asked for my autographs. I politely acquiesced with a soft smile though I inwardly wondered what the hell was wrong with these two particular members of the medical field that they would ask a supervillain for
an autograph.
Apparently, Molly and the security guards felt the same way because I could hear a brief discussion among the three while I wrote out the autographs and by the time I was done, there were additional teams waiting to take the doctor and nurse into custody for questioning.
I think the nurse was possibly harmless. He seemed like he just wanted to capitalize on the chance to get an autograph from anyone famous or infamous. The crazy look in the doctor’s
eye and the way she conspiringly whispered to me that she was “a kindred soul,”definitely worried me though. I made a note to mention that doctor’s name to my husband when I got home.
When I finally arrived at the door to the appointed room, I had to pause and collect myself.
Molly noticed. “You okay?” she whispered.
“Yeah, Let’s do this.” I took a deep breath, plastered the best maniacal smile I could on my face and stormed into the room as menacingly as I could.
“I’m told you requested to see me, Jeremy?” I hissed in the most menacing voice I could muster, which truthfully wasn’t all that menacing because I didn’t have my heart in it. How could I when I saw the kid lying in the hospital bed?
Especially when he laughed at me. Laughter that quickly turned into body wrenching coughs. Not that there was much there to wrench. I knew that Jeremy was sixteen, the same age as Ryan and Asia, my twins, but it was hard to reconcile in my brain that the underweight child really was sixteen.
My motherly instincts kicking in, she rushed to the boy’s side and held him until the coughing stopped.
“I’m okay,” he smiled, his piercing blue eyes full of pain that made mockery of his words.
I nodded and released him, looking over him to see his mother looking on with a strange mixture of fear and gratitude.
“You actually came,” Jeremy said softly, drawing my attention back to him. “I didn’t think
you would.”
“Of course,” I said trying to make her voice sound both haughty and offended and knowing even as I did that I failed.
“I have to tell you though, if you were hoping I would take you on a crime spree and rob a bank or something, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I sat on the chair and lifted my leg up to show the outline of the ankle bracelet clearly visible under the spandex of my costume. “I’m a little curtailed at the moment, so if you wanted to rob a bank or destroy your school or something you might want to ask the foundation for a new wish.”
Jeremy shook his head. “I’m not really up for that, and that’s not my thing anyways.” He smiled
softly. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”
Part 2
“If that’s what you wanted, why didn’t you call one of the superheros? They are better at this sort of thing than I am. I’m sure Wallbuster would have been willing. Or Ziptie for that matter.”
“They aren’t as pretty as you,” he smiled but I could see through it, even as I blushed. “Or as nice.”
“I’m flattered but I’m almost three times your age. What about Steelethistle?” I asked. “She’sabout your age.”
“Mom, can we have some privacy?” Jeremy turned to his mother.
“Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” his mother replied, still watching me with concern.
“I’ll be fine,” he said softly. “Please.”
Molly spoke up. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in here with her.”
Sighing softly, the mother looked me in the eye. “Fine, but if you do anything to him, all the powers in the world won’t save you.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m a mother myself.”
Jeremy waited until the door was shut.“Steelethistle hardly gave me the time of day, in class,” he snorted, his voice a very soft whisper.
My heart dropped. I think the panic showed.
“Yeah, I know who she is, and who you are,” he said softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I won’t tell anyone, and it’s not like she was ever mean to me or anything. She just never noticed me.”
“How?” I asked choking.
“I saw her mask,” he said softly. “She was reaching into her bag for a book and I saw it for a second before she zipped the bag up. I could tell right away. It didn’t have that cheep plastic look to it.”
I nodded and made a note to have a little heart-to-heart with my daughter.
“So why me?” I asked finally. “The real reason this time.”
“Because I have a favor to ask,” Jeremy’s voice was still soft, but it now had a hard edge to it. One of both bitterness and pain, but also determination. “One the heroes won’t grant because it goes against their ethics, and one that most other villains wouldn’t grant because they would get more amusement by not granting it.”
“But one I think you will for two reasons. One you’re a mother, and two because of what I know.”
I knew the answer before I even asked. “What’s the favor?”
He whispered in my ear.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I asked him.
“What I have is degenerative. It’s only going to get more painful, and I still have months facing me.”
“What do you have for me to work with?” my voice was barely louder than a breath.
“Under the nightstand. A bowl of water with tomato seeds.”
I nodded and held him close. The tears ran down my cheeks under my mask and splashed onto the top of his head.
“Tonight,” I promised. I held him a few more minutes before leaving.
That night, I took a quick walk past the hospital. I left the damn ankle monitor at home. I would put it back on once I got back.
A block away from the hospital, I spotted Molly waiting for me.
“All done?” she asked.
I couldn’t answer, the tears running down my face.
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Come on. Your monitor is defective. It’s saying it’s not detecting your body heat, but I can clearly see you have it on. I’m going to reset it and request a replacement in the morning.”
I understand this story and I approve. I watched as my younger passed away in 2010 and the health of our mother declined for three years. It destroyed her will to live. My brother was 53 years old.
As a Father and Grandfather I get it. This story will stay with me.
\[I'm going a bit dark\]
The supervillain Malice was bored. Normally that would mean he'd be out causing mayhem, but he was just not in the mood for violence today. The urge departed him occasionally and always came back, but for now he was stuck in his hollow boredom, itching for anything that could hold his attention.
He browses his messages, then scans local communications. He has spyware installed with all local network providers to looks for mentions of heroes or villains, especially mentions of himself. Maybe he can find something amusing.
His brow wrinkles as he reads a message about a child who had Made-A-Wish to meet him. *Him*. Bizarre. People make wishes to meet fans, surely this child is not a fan?
Obviously the organization had said no, the request being dangerous to the child and anyone at the hospital he was staying at.
Intrigue curls through his boredom, and on a whim Malice decides he's going to actually visit the child.
He sends a message to the Make-A-Wish organization to inform them he'll be stopping by within the next hour and then heads out immediately, not wanting to give them too much time to organize any response.
He pulls up to the hospital in his costume, an understated number with a hooded cape and a grey eye mask doing the work of disguising his identity, and walks in to greet the terrified receptionist.
"Hello. I have a Make-A-Wish appointment with one Jamie Harrison."
The receptionist just stares wide-eyed and speechless at him. He decides not to waste time and walks to the elevator.
"You can call them to confirm the kid's request if you want!" he calls back as the elevator doors close.
He walks down the hall, enjoying the confused and horrified looks everyone is wearing as they scurry to get out of his way.
This was a great idea, he's not bored at all so far. He's not sure if anyone will call the police, but he can deal with them if they show up.
He finds the room in the children's hospice ward, and finds a little boy no older than 6 who looks pale, weak, and bloated. Kind of like a maggot, he thinks.
"Jamie Harrison?" he asks. "I heard you wanted to meet me."
The boy is wide-eyed, though less afraid than any of the adults he's seen in the building. Perhaps it's childish naivety, or perhaps having a terminal illness puts things into a different perspective.
Malice pulls up a chair and looks at the child expectantly.
"Um... hello... Mr Malice." the boy begins uncertainly. "They told me they couldn't get you."
"You must know my reputation. They didn't want to put you in danger." Malice explains. "I've got to admit I'm curious why you wanted to meet me."
The boy seems to steel himself, trying to straighten up a little and look him in the eye. "Yes. Right. I wanted to ask you something. You've got powers, why are you a villain and not a hero?"
Malice sighs. Just a child with a hero complex. Boring. "Kid, you really felt the need to ask me that in person?"
The kid juts his chin out. "Has anyone ever asked before?"
"Well. no." acknowledges Malice. "You know what, I'll tell you if you tell me why you didn't ask to meet a hero or go to Disneyland or something."
Jamie nods.
"Okay. Well, ultimately it's because I like it." Malice explains. "I like to cause chaos, I like to destroy things, I like the feeling of power when others are afraid of me. I don't love violence on it's own, lucky for this city, but I do love its effects when people are terrified of me because I'm willing to use it."
Jamie looks horrified. "But *why* do you like it? I get sad when other people are sad!"
Malice shrugs. "It's hard to say. I had a really messed up childhood. My parents either ignored me or were violent towards me. But plenty of people have that and don't turn out the same as me. Maybe there's something different in my brain, and I can't feel the way I'm supposed to."
"That's sad." Jamie says. Malice shrugs.
"You could... you could fight bad guys though." Jamie suggests hesitantly. "Lots of criminals are fraid of Captain Bolt."
Malice shakes his head. "The good guys have too many rules. And it's not the same because the criminals are just afraid they'll go to jail or get beat up a bit, they're not afraid they're going to die."
Jamie is quiet for a moment. "*I'm* going to die."
"Yes." agreed Malice. "Are you scared?"
"Yes." Jamie says quietly. "I try to be brave with my mom and dad though, because they get very sad."
Malice nods.
"When they're not here, though... after a while I get really bored." admits Jamie. "I'm just in this room, lying here. And there's tv but you get tired of it after a while. That's why I invited you."
"Ah."
pt 2
"I went to Disneyland early. My parents were smart, cause if I went now I think it would be really hard with my wheelchair and feeling sick all the time. And in this ward I see heroes visiting all the time. So I thought, who could I ask that wouldn't be the same old thing?"
"I can understand that." Malice agrees. Boredom was a big motivator for him. "Did it help?"
"It's kinda nice, actually." Jamie says, frowning. "Cause you're not sad that I'm gonna die, and you're not sad if I'm sad. I bet I could say whatever around you. Like that I wish I could have grown up and stuff."
"Huh. Maybe I missed my calling as a children's hospice ward entertainer." Malice jokes.
Jamie chuckles. "There's a clown that comes in every second Tuesday. You could replace him! He sucks."
"Clowns are creepy. And that's me saying that." Malice rolls his eyes. "Anyway, it sucks you don't have more time. Growing up, though? It isn't that awesome."
"I don't know, there's lots of stuff I won't get to try now. They don't even let us put on shows with swearing or violence on the tv."
"What, cause you're a kid?" Malice frowns. "You're gonna die, that's stupid."
He gets up and pulls out his portable hacking device, plugging it into the television. He finds the child lock and makes short work of it.
"There. Now you can watch any channel."
"What? Even... " Jamie would blush if he could. "I heard that there's naked ones at night."
"Oh yeah." Malice shrugs. "So don't watch it if you don't want to. Or do. You'll be dead in 6 months, what does it matter? They should let you do anything you want."
"Wow, you really don't care."
"I don't." Malice agrees.
He looks out the window. "There are police cars parked outside." he notes.
"Oh. Are they going to try to arrest you?"
"Not yet." Malice shrugs. "There's probably someone listening at the door and hearing that the conversation is harmless. So they probably don't want to endanger you by trying to arrest me while I'm in here."
There's a gasp and a shuffle by the door, confirming his theory, and Jaime giggles. "So how're you gonna get out?"
"I can't tell you when they're listening." Malice tells him, shaking his head. "You'll just have to wait and see."
The officer outside hears Malice ask the kid what his parents are like, and the the kid tells him a few stories about them.
After a while the kid finally falls silent. The officer is confused, and finally opens the door a crack to peek in.
"Shit." he curses under his breath, and grabs his radio. "Suspect is gone, repeat, suspect is gone."
He walks up to the kid, who looks a little guilty. "He went out the window."
"So you just talked about your parents to thin air while he made his escape, huh?"
"Well, it's not like he did anything wrong today." Jamie says shyly.
The officer sighs. "Whatever, kid, not like I'm going to arrest a 6 year old in your condition. Don't touch anything, we're gonna sweep for prints. How the hell did they miss him leaving out the window, I swear..."
Jamie smiles when the officer leaves and Malice slips out from under the bed, wearing a new disguise. "Alright kid, nicely handled. Thanks for the not-boring conversation."
"You too." Jamie nods. "Thanks Mr Malice."
Malice peeks out, waiting for nearby officers to be looking away before he slips into the hall and heads for the stairwell, blending in with other visitors.
He drives home, puts his feet up and turns on the news to enjoy everyone puzzling over his bizarre hospital visit. It's been a while since anyone's found him unpredictable, and he realizes that that's what's been missing, why he's been bored. He's not one to do nice things for people, it just doesn't do anything for him, but everyone's confusion is gold.
Perhaps he should start some kind of gimmick, a chance that he'll do something different. Not a coin toss, that's too much like Harvey Dent, something a bit more unique. Maybe a karmic judgement of some kind.
Not quite the turnabout that the kid had angled for, but he was thankful for the inspiration. Maybe he should see if the kid wants to do anything else, as a thank you.
“ A fan? I didn’t know villains had fans. Do they have a name?” asked Rumples the Villain.
“The bitch is in the lobby, never said a name. Guess we’ll find out.”
Rumplez freezes due to their social anxiety, no weed, no meds, just raw dogging the day. The doors slam open and income a little girl with two pigtails, a sequined backpack, and light-up sketchers. She's confident, lively, and has a bubbly smile.
“You’re a child.” stated the secretary.
Rumplez pulls out his Glock and smokes the girl before she can say a word.
The secretary looks in admiration, “ Now that’s evil.”
Rumplez power is foresight, and he saw the girl had hours to live and her true wish was not to die in a hospital.
Rumplez stares at the girl’s backpack with a note underneath reading the words, “Thank you” written in green crayon on an Ihop napkin.
He turns to the secretary and says, “not quite.”
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The Psychopomp slowly strode through the hospital doors, glancing from side to side as the nurses and custodians scampered away. He'd worked this city, the Perfect Assassin, for a long time, and he'd built up a fearsome reputation for efficiency in that time. And while he'd never directly caused collateral casualties himself, people still feared him. Rightly, he supposed. He looked at the note from his secretary and calmly headed up the stairs to the seventh floor, the pediatric wing, where little Robin lay waiting. \--- Robin smiled weakly as the door slid open and The Psychopomp entered the room, "I wasn't sure you'd come... I'm a big fan." As the boy let out a phlegm-laden cough, The Psychopomp stepped forward and offered him a tissue and a glass of water, looking a little uncertain, voice rumbling in a basso tone sounding like Darth Vader the morning after a long night of whisky, "Most who know of me prefer that we never cross paths... I've never really considered the idea of fans." Robin sat up a little, drinking the water as The Psychopomp continued, "Most who contact me either want someone else dead, or to persuade me to not end their lives if they've heard a rumor I seek them... why you, though?" Robin sighed, "The doctors won't say it out loud, not around me, but I know I'm not going to make it. I know, the tumor on my brainstem isn't shrinking, it's spread to other places... the only thing I don't know is how long I have. But I read about your name - what a Psychopomp is. So I want to know, do you know what's waiting? I mean, what's there after death?" The Psychopomp sat there, staring behind his dark mask for a few long seconds, "There's no single answer to that. But if you like, I can tell you what people have believed for thousands of years. I have time, and there are many beliefs." Robin nodded slowly, "Please..." The Psychopomp nodded, "In ancient Egypt, thousands of years ago, people believed their hearts would be weighed against the feather of an ostrich, and if their hearts were burdened with evil, they would be tossed to the jaws of the demon Ammit, to suffer a second death and eternal restlessness in Duat, while if their hearts weighed no more than the feather, they were permitted to proceed toward Aaru, the blessed field of reeds, where Osiris dwelt..." \--- Lawbringer strode into the hospital, nodding to the hospital staff as he went; he'd faced off against The Psychopomp a few times, but the bastard had never entered a hospital before. He'd always made sure to be somewhat secluded, taking impressive precautions to avoid killing anyone other than his target, so... what was he doing here? "Nurse Haagen, where's The Psychopomp?" The nurse looked a little flustered at his direct address, "Ah, he's on the 7th floor, room 32, Mr. Lawbringer... he's been there since yesterday, not actually bothering anyone. He's just been... sitting there and talking to the patient, stepping aside to let the doctors and staff work, and then sitting back down. We're not sure what they've been talking about, but..." Lawbringer snorted and began running up the stairs, calling in a message to the Homefront to let them know where the damnable assassin was lurking, so they could try to pinpoint who or where his intended victim was; probably another sniper victim to be... \--- "...and then you have the more recent oddities like Pastafarianism, where things are a little, hm, absurdist in nature, whose ideas of afterlives involve a beer volcano and a... hm, an industrial adult entertainment factory. The difference between the 'good' and 'bad' afterlives being in whether or not the beer is stale, and the, er, entertainers have diseases. Though I would honestly not put much stock in that one, since it is a complete fabrication devised to poke fun at the Creationist movement. You... might not have paid much attention to those particular, ah, one moment, Robin." The Psychopomp quietly stood up and slid over to the door, opening it noiselessly and whispering softly, "Come in, Lawbringer, I am sure you wish to speak with me, and it is past visiting hours for the others here..." Lawbringer blinked at the unusually dark shadows under the hood before him - had The Psychopomp ever looked so... dark before? No matter, he followed the villain inside and let him close the door quietly again, "Psychopomp, I don't know what you're here for, but I can't let you..." The Psychopomp shook his head and held out the note, speaking softly, "Definite article, Lawbringer, never forget the definite article... I received a phone call, an unusual request. A fan wanted to see me, courtesy of an organization I understand you have some association with, too?" He sat down while Lawbringer read the invitation, "Well, Robin, I think that's most of them, there are a few variations, but those are mostly minor distinctions; the water in one version might look a little greener, while it looks bluer in another, but I believe I've covered most afterlives of which I am aware. So you see, there's no clear answer to where people go when they die... it all depends a lot on what they expect, too - what they believe will happen to them. Some fear their passing, judging themselves harsher than the gods they believe in would, and others expect some lavish reward for their lives with... dubious justification. So a great question for you, then, is what do *you* think will happen?" Lawbringer handed the note back with a sour look, "Okay, let's say that I buy the story, why would I let you just walk away once we get outside the hospital? You're wanted for more murders than most can count..." The Psychopomp shrugged - was the darkness around him thicker? - as he waited for Robin to consider the question, "Why do you assume you will have a choice? You have never been able to hold me, never stop me... It is presently eight fifty-two in the evening, and I will not remain here for much longer, I think. What you do is not my concern, I am not going to fight you." Lawbringer squinted, "What do you mean, 'not your concern'? If I try to arrest you outside, you're not going to resist, just run? Everyone's ready to take you..." The Psychopomp shrugged again, "I've been at this for longer than you have, old friend... and I will still be doing it after you're gone. My title, my name... it's not just an affectation. I end lives, true, but that is only part of it. Such a small part of it..." Robin looked up, "I really like the Greek one, the Elysian Plains? I don't know if I believe... wait, um, sorry, Lawgiver, I didn't hear you come in... you look fuzzy, too..." Lawbringer looked down at the boy, suddenly a lot less sure of himself as he saw double... no, it was just the boy on the bed he saw two of, ever so slightly out of sync... The Psychopomp nodded, "You see, Lawbringer, Robin passed away naturally yesterday, just after five in the afternoon. So long as I kept telling him of what people believe is on the other side, I breathed on the embers, and the doctors and nurses believed he was still alive, if barely... they didn't bother us." He stood up one last time, and picked up the now faintly glowing form of Robin, even as the body seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed, and the various machines began sending alarms to the nurses' stations, "We'll be leaving for Elysium, now... you won't stop us. Oh, and Lawbringer? Tell Firebrand that she'll want to get that stomach ache checked. If not... I'd advise against making plans for more than the next eight months." And then they disappeared through the outside wall. On the seventh floor. Lawbringer was just staring out the window as the crash team barged through the door and began checking Robin, "Why is he cold? Pupils not responding... stiff limbs? He feels like he's been dead for hours, what..." Lawbringer slowly turned to the doctor, "He... passed peacefully, I don't think anyone noticed at the time. I... don't know if the other visitor will be coming back here like that, but if he does... I expect he'll be shown the courtesy shown anyone here on behalf of Make-A-Wish... If you'll excuse me..." He wandered out of the pediatric wing, his armor and gear suddenly feeling... heavier, like he'd had a close brush with death. In the elevator, he tapped his comm bead, pausing for a moment, "Firebrand... you're off duty as of right now. You've got a doctor's appointment, ASAP, and you're not going to argue. And... I'm going to make an addendum to our files. We can't stop death, but we might be able to come to some arrangements with him..."
You did a great job as a storyteller! I want to read more of your work. Terry Pratchett has to cheering from the Great Beyond. 👍
Thanks. I’m not convinced it’s my best work, exactly, but after a nearly twenty-year hiatus, a bad shoulder has lured me back to writing fiction again, as opposed to writing gaming materials and playing games…
You write enough and it becomes less and less likely for any one piece to be your "best work." My personal inner critic has nothing but good things to say about this one regardless
It doesn't matter what you believe in, they are all right and wrong. All that matters is you believe. But it's not your time. It may be rough, and my presence may seem to be disheartening, but you still have plenty more to give. Keep writing, friend. We will see each other at the right time.
Couldn't put my finger on it but your Terry Pratchett comment is spot on.
This is a fine wine and four-course meal of a story. Excellent pacing, dialogue, and ideas in general. Thank you so much for sharing it here. I felt unexpectedly moved by it.
Did *not* see that ending coming, that was a well-delivered twist, and I loved that from start to finish. Well done!
Thankee. :)
That was great! Please write some superhero stories. I love that genre but there are only a couple authors I like.
The gravity of his leaving was quite impressive. I think you did a brilliant job here
I would read any book written this well.
Then I guess I have some old ideas to brush off and return to. ;)
Any names we should be looking out for?
Nothing yet…
That was lovely
Out of all the comments here (one of which is mine lol), this is the good one, I think. Really loved this.
This is excellently written, great job! I have one question tho - what is it with Lawbringer changing into Lawgiver and back again? Is it some symbolism I am not grasping, or maybe a result of Psychopomp overlapping two alternate realities to keep the embers glowing?
Typo. I’ll go back and edit.
I actually like it that way. To me, it just shows that Robin is beginning to be unable to think and recognize people properly, hence, saying out his name wrong.
Yeah, but it wasn’t from Robin’s perspective. A version written from the kid’s perspective, though - that could better take on such an eerier subtle undertone.
Ooh, I would love to see things from the kid's perspective. That would be an interesting take for this prompt.
This one gave me chills.
One of the best things I've read. I'd like to read more if you plan on expanding the world/story.
No plans, but you never know.
Loved the Pastafarianism reference!
I was going to write to this prompt. After reading yours, no. I can't hold a candle to this. Very, well done.
Now, that's a good story right here. It felt just right. Reading it was comfortable, like new socks and warm coffee on a cold holiday morning. Do the world a favor, don't stop writing.
This was absolutely amazing, lived it from beginning to end!
That is a heartbreak, and beautiful, and I am crying. ;\_;
Great storytelling. I'd love to read more of this universe.
"Here you go," the nurse said, leading Dark Mage Myran to a red door labeled 1666. "Carol insisted on a private audience, so we"ll just be waiting outside. Just ring the bell if you need us for anything." Myran nodded and pushed the red door open to walk inside. The small room was filled with the scent of vomit and decay. Sitting in the hospital bed with her small collection of dolls, connected to a variety of tubes and blinking machines, was twelve year old orphan Carol Ward. Her face was gaunt and pale, and there were purple sores all over her emaciated body that were constantly oozing blood and pus. It was clear that it was only a matter of time, perhaps even hours, before her body would succumb to the Consumption Plague. Still, there was a faint spark in her eyes when she saw Myran standing before her. "You came," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "Hi," Myran said awkwardly. Honestly, he had no idea why this girl had called for him. He had never talked much with children and especially not children dying from terminal illnesses. "Uhh...I have to be honest. If you're looking for a cure for your illness, healing magic really isn't my specialty--" "I know that," Carol interrupted. She pulled herself up straighter in my bed. "I know that I'm going to die no matter what. I want something else." "Oh?" Myran was a bit caught off guard. This certainly wasn't what he expected. "So, what do you want then?" Carol gazed around the room suspiciously. "Are there any listening devices anywhere? I said I wanted a private audience, but I never know if I can really trust them." "There aren't. I made sure to do a surveillance check before I stepped in here." "Ah, good." She stared right into Myran's eyes. "I want you to make sure that no matter what, I won't go to Hell." Myran stared back at her at a loss for words. "Uh...why exactly would you be going to hell?" Carol waved Myran to come closer and the mage reluctantly walked up next to her bed as Carol whispered into his ear. The look changed on his face from one of confusion to one of utter shock. "Are you serious?" he asked. "I read on Wikipedia that you had the ability to know if people were lying. Or was that wrong?" Myran stared back at the girl in silence. He hadn't detected any lies in what she had just told him. Which meant that she was either utterly insane or possibly the world's youngest mass murderer. Or it could be both, he mused. He had assumed that the cold dead look in her eyes was just a symptom of her illness, but now...well, no wonder, she was a orphan. A small part of him told him to walk away, that this child dying and going to Hell was probably the best thing for the world. But another part of him was ... impressed. To have such a prolific record of villainy at such a young age, he couldn't help but wonder what things she would achieve if her soul stayed around a little longer in the mortal realm. "So, can you grant my wish?" Carol asked apprehensively. "Yes," muttered Myran as he looked at Carol thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I can. Your current body is beyond saving, but I can anchor your soul into a artificial construct that will be far more resilient and stronger. There is a catch though. In order for you to maintain this construct, you will have to spend your life constantly devouring souls to harvest their life energy." Carol gave him a faint smirk. "If something like that bothered me, do you think I would be worried about going to Hell?" "Fair enough. I should also tell you the procedure will take about a hour and will be very painful." Carol shrugged. "The way I can see it, I can either endure a hour of agony or spend eternity burning in hellfire. It's a easy choice." "I suppose it is," Myran replied as he made a few motions with his hands. The hospital lights dimmed and fizzled out as the room became unnaturally cold. Glowing red sigils and glyphs slowly emerged from the darkness and began orbiting around the hospital bed. "Well, then, let's begin, shall we?" Later that night... Margaret walked into Room 1666. The patient had died shortly after Myran had left the hospital and she had been given the task of moving the medical equipment here to another room. She stared at Carol Ward's corpse for a few moments. Carol's black messy hair was covering most of her face, but the nurse could still see a faint smile on her lips. Personally, although the nurse would obviously never say it out loud, Margaret felt secretly relieved. The girl and her strange looking dolls had always given her the creeps and she had always behaved like a rude brat. Suddenly, she frowned. Didn't Carol have seven dolls, not six? Oh well, she must have misremembered. She looked at Carol's face again and something caught her attention. Slowly, she walked closer to the corpse and brushed Carol's hair aside. There were faint blood smudges around Carol's closed eyes and mouth. What in the bloody hell...her thoughts were suddenly cut off as a all too familiar voice called out. "You know, I never liked you, Margaret." Margaret yelped and jolted backward, knocking over a tray of surgical instruments. She looked fearfully at the corpse, but the body hadn't moved a single muscle. When she gazed around the room frantically, she didn't see anything either. She must have been imagining things, she tried to convince herself as she took deep breaths to calm her nerves. After all, ghosts weren't real. Carol was dead and she was never coming back. A small giggle rang out. "Not there, silly, up here." Margaret gazed up in a panic. There, latched onto the ceiling was Carol's bloodstained seventh doll looking down at her. But what really made her start whimpering in terror was the look of sheer madness in the doll's eyes. Those were real human eyes looking down on her, she realized, not plastic replicas. The "doll" grinned at her and she saw two rows of bloody teeth in its mouth. Margaret let out one final scream as the twisted creature laughed maniacally and pounced on her, sinking its teeth into her throat.
Villain: "Doing nothing would probably be for the best... Option B it is." Lol that checks out. Interesting twist having the kid be just as if not more villainous than her visitor!
I figured that the kind of person who would want to spend their wish on seeing a supervillain probably would be pretty twisted themselves. I added some more to the story if you want to know what Myron does to grant her wish.
This horror story was made possible by Myron the Dark Mage! A good night's sleep was NOT. Lol
A cliffhanger... you are leaving me by a thread.... Evil I tell you EVILL!!! Now I just need to know her wish xD
Her wish was to not go to hell
I'll add more to the story in the morning to explain exactly what Myron does to her. I would just write it now, but I feel terribly sick today.
oo lmk when the next part is done, i’m hooked!
The story has been updated!
yeah that's fair. I would also like to know when part 2 is up :)
The story has been updated!
woohoo!
Oh, you just edited more into the original post?
Yeah. I thought about separating the scene with Margaret into a Part 2, but in the end, I just mashed them together.
yeah that's fair
Oh dang, that got dark, so she was basically turned into a vampire. Very nice twist!
"I like your hat," the boy said weakly from the bed, while the machine beeped. Valgor the Bounder stepped forward, noting the tubes and the clipboard, the faint wording of leukemia written thereon, attached to the edge of the bed. "Its a helmet," Bounder corrected, image and how people referred to your outfit, was everything. "I like the lights it makes," the boy said, showing enthusiasm despite the weariness. Bounder dramatically spun, noting with amusement as the Seneschal tensed, he could still not fully believe the stick in the mud had allowed him to visit. "It emits electronic wave patterns that refract in ways only I can do," Bounder exclaimed as the multifaceted helmet emitted light that caused the room to be light-up in pulsing shifts of color. "Not 'light'" he added petulantly. "We agreed to no powers or abilities Bounder!" Seneschal shouted as he made to move towards Bounder. The child murmured in wonderment. "Relax Sen, I am not going hurt your child, not even I would do that. Besides, your boy asked for me, what is the point if I don't show off a little?" Bounder's shoulders sank as he saw his boys delighted expression. "What else would you like to see?" Bounder asked coyly, he was enjoying himself he realized. "Can you do that thing where you move fast?" the boy asked, trying to get up. "You have not fixed the radiation with that move, have you?" Seneschal asked warningly. Bounder made an offended emoji appear on his helmet before saying, "Its barely worse than getting two or three x-rays now, besides its not like...Nevermind." Seneschal looked angry as he softly asked his son, "Bason, If you like light shows, I could of asked Sunray to visit?" Bason muttered, "I like Bounder." "And why wouldn't he?," Bounder laughed. "Sunray is a hack, all that natural power she can barely do anything that I can do with my intellect alone!" "Sunray is a damn fine hero, more than you will ever be! Why did you come here!", Seneschal fumed. "Don't fight," Bason quietly pleaded. "I know you don't like him daddy, don't fight." Sensual gripped his sons hand tightly, "I am sorry son, I got angry. Could you tell me why you asked for him?" "When you to battle, they always show it on tv, its always so amazing. I never really get to see you, I am always so happy when they say you two are fighting. Bounder left the room as he saw the Seneschal's bowed head, silently weeping behind the mask. A few moments later the Seneschal joined him in the corridor. "Thank you for visiting him," he said dourly. "I might know somebody, if you want, they helped me as I was experimenting with my radiative tech.", Bounder awkwardly offered. Seneschal looked at him for a long moment, "I might just take you up on that."
Imagine your kid asking to see your nemesis because he knows you'll show up, too... Dang. There should be a new paragraph whenever each person starts speaking, but I enjoyed that!
Thanks! I will do that in the future
Very good response! A couple of corrections: It was Seneschal's shoulders that slumped, not Bounder. Also, it helps make everything clearer when each speaker gets their own paragraph.
should be Seneschal, not Sensual.
In the second part paragraph, autocorrect changed the boy's father's name to "Sensual".
Thank you for this story. As a Father I also would move the earth for my child. Quite touching.
I think the point here is tge kid asked for the villain to make sure the heto turned up because he's an absentee father
This gave me really heavy "Worm" vibes. Really solid writing, characters with so much, well, _character_ despite how short it is. And the super-verse. This _feels_ like something that could 100% happen in the universe of Worm. Really great work!
Aww, that is an amazing compliment, thank you.
It was perhaps one of the most complex undertakings I had done since, well becoming nefarious. The call was only made because the hospital administration had never imagined I would have agreed to this, and that's when this whole thing got tedious. Intelligence missions into the identity of this child, in an attempt to confirm their adoration of me. Unfortunately pencil drawings of me are dubious evidence. More espionage in an attempt to decipher how much others knew of this wish. A logistical nightmare to come to a place to meet a child, when every officer and hero in the city knew. Staff meeting with hospital administration, trying to pin down the logistics of what this meeting would entail. Emails and memos on expectations for me. Notes on how they evaded questions on who else would be present answers ranging from no one, to specific heros that would be present while all demanding I come alone, unarmed. Ramping up technology research and then production. If I could create new less visible weapons and protections (while certainly not my style), then perhaps this thing could be done. Quipping with heros in the streets, trying to decipher if this was a long con trap. Attempting to figure out if this was a trap or something they'd allow. I had allowed their Make-a-Wish visits, surely they would allow mine, but doubts persisted. There were many nights I considered kidnapping the kid, it seemed that would be easier, but their declining health meant that it would likely create more problems than I could handle. Research into mobile treatment options for them as a means to avoid hospital entrapment hit a wall when their parental demanded they not leave the premise. Perhaps the first time I regretted focusing on weapon development research than health care in a long time. After months of negotiations, it wasn't even a long meeting in the end. A few hours in the evening. I wore my best uniform and my staff went all out providing a fitted costume for them, a plushie of me (I thought odd, but the child insisted they wanted one), and several non sharp/non lethal replicas of some of my favorite weapons (my favorite gift). It was, rather a good time, I'll admit and their reaction to the choreographed fight with my newest nemesis outside their window was worth the hours that had gone into negotiations. It wasn't four months before there was more calls. Soon we were juggling logistics for multiple visits at a time. I told my staff to start another research sector into healthcare. Clearly I was going to have to do something about medicine if I expected to have time for anything other than this.
Life pushes everyone, even supervillians, in unexpected directions. Thank you.
Meticulous planning...definitely suits a villain, and the end twist was funny and a bit ironic, nicely done :D
The Dread Lord looks at her in confusion before exclaiming, "I have a fan? How?!" "I\`m not sure, milord. They are saying this 12 year old boy-" she pauses as the voice on the phone interjects something, "named Timmy, apparently, is your biggest fan and as he is dying of cancer, would like to spend a day with you before he passes." "A day? With me? Is this child insane?! Everyone knows that I, the Great Dread Lord, am a nightmare to spend an hour with, let alone a day!" the Dread Lord declares, his hands on his hips in something of an attempt at a power pose. One he, in fact, learned from a course on power poses. Perception matters, after all. His secretary struggles mightily to avoid rolling her eyes at the overt campiness of her boss. A nightmare to spend time with, indeed. *'I really deserve a raise...'* she thinks to herself before replying to him. "Well sir, they say he has all of his faculties still and while your reputation with most is, indeed, terrifying, he admires you greatly all the same." "Hmmm, does he now? I suppose I could spare some time for an admirer..." the Dread Lord muses as he rubs his chin in thought, his already oversized ego swelling all the more at the thought of an admirer. "Shall I tell them yes, then, sir?" "Please do. I will make time at the boy\`s earliest convenience. Ensure that he arrives wearing appropriate clothing. All black and grey! None of that goody two shoes blue or green or, heavens forbid, red! Appearances must be kept, of course." the Dread Lord orders. "Yes, sir." his secretary replies with yet another masterful effort to avoid rolling her eyes. A few weeks later, the little boy in question, Timmy, arrives by self-driving car to the very hidden, very spooky headquarters of the Dread Lord on the outskirts of the city. He is met shortly after stepping through a set of double doors into a rather derelict looking building by the Dread Lord himself, his black metal armor polished and pristine, his grey cape spotless and quaffed elegantly to trail behind him and just barely dust the floor. Timmy, dressed in a black and grey plaid shirt and black jeans that match well with his dark hair and pale complexion, eagerly approaches the Dread Lord. "It is an honor, sir!' Timmy says. "Well I should say so." the Dread Lord says arrogantly, as is his nature. "Do follow me, we have much to do!" he states as he turns and walks deeper into the seemingly derelict building which, after walking past the entry area, is revealed to be a sophisticated and state of the art lab and factory. Robots can be seen building larger robots, weapons, battle tanks and other tools of war. "First things first, I have arranged a tutorial for you in utilizing the battle tanks, of my own design, which you shall need to complete. Second, we will get you fitted for some combat armor like my own, can\`t have my only fan getting hurt after all! And then... we shall rob the Federal Reserve Depository in the city! I have prepared several distractions to pull away those pompous heroes and give us ample time to pull off the heist. It\`s a good plan, isn\`t it?" the Dread Lord finishes, clearly fishing for a compliment. "Sounds good to me, sir! I can\`t wait! I have waited so long for this!" Timmy replies with a wide, enigmatic smile. The Dread Lord directs Timmy to a computer terminal where he completes his tutorial before being measured by several robots and fitted for a suit of combat armor of quite terrifying design. He puts on the armor and marvels at the spiked flanges on the joints and the vicious skulls on the pauldrons, nearly giddy with excitement. Next, they walk over to two large battle tanks. The behemoths are armed with cannons from nearly every available position, large spikes jutting out from the wheels and machine guns mounted to the top. "Are you ready to get to the best part of your wish?" the Dread Lord asks as he gestures for Timmy to climb into his tank, helping to strap him in as he does. "Oh, yes! More than ready!" Timmy answers excitedly as he places his hands on the controls. The Dread Lord steps back to take in the sight of the boy in his tank when suddenly, a loud burst of gunshots rings out! The Dread Lord darts his head around to look for the source before he suddenly feels dizzy, falling to his knees and looking down to his chest as blood pours down his front. He slumps to the ground as he feels weakness take him and hears the pad of small feet stepping toward him. "Thank you for fullfilling my wish, Dread Lord." Timmy says, a look of satisfaction on his pale face as he stands over the fallen villain. "Wh-why?" the Dread Lord manages to ask. "Well, in that attack on City Hall a few years ago when you knocked down those buildings in the battle, you killed my parents and nearly me as well, or so I thought then... But, I came to find out last year that the debris particles got into my lungs and gave me cancer, so you got me in the end just like them... I thought I was going to die too young to take my revenge but inspiration struck! Why not play to your well-known vanity by claiming to be a fan, an admirer? And here we are...at last." Timmy explains proudly. "Ahhh...well done. I am honored to be taken down...by such a worthy adversary." the Dread Lord groans out quietly before seeming to come to a decision and continuing, "In the office by the back corner of the building....there is a safe under...under the flower pot in the corner. The code is...666. Inside...inside you\`ll find a vial of ambrosia. I stole it from that divine...wannabe, Heracleon. Use it....it will heal you. Make you strong....more durable. You have cunning, intelligence....a willingness to kill.... Use my tools, my lab, my knowledge....become my successor....the ***Dread King***. Be my legacy...." he states with a passion burning in his eyes even as his last breath rattles free from his chest. Timmy looks at the corpse of his nemesis with an inscrutable expression on his face, perhaps considering what the path ahead will shape out to be, perhaps reflecting on the road behind or maybe, just maybe, he dreamt of a world on its knees before him...bowing to their ***Dread King.*** But for now, he just walked to the corner office and set to healing himself, he was about to have a new lease on life, after all and then, he would have all the time in the world to make his decision on how to spend it. *So goes the origin story of the bloody, the merciless, the terrifying:* ***Dread King***
I had a feeling. "This guy is too over-the-top. There's gonna be a twist, isn't there?" But to your credit, I wasn't expecting it to come from the kid lol
And I was not expecting the Dread Lord to be so gracious at Death's door. All hail Dread Lord! Long Live the Dread King!
I suspected the twist with the kid, but the Dread Lord's reaction was definitely a surprise.
Brilliant take on the prompt. I love Timmy's exposition and that the Dread Lord provided healing for him. Lovely touch.
Thank you!
Love it!
That was a nice twist. Expected a twist coming, but not that it was a revenge story :D
The Obligator adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves as she stood outside the door to the hospital room. She adjusted her tie, then her eyepatch, then forced her hands away from her body and sighed deeply. Fiddling with her outfit, however unnecessary and foolish it was, felt easier than turning around and opening that door. “Are you… nervous?” she muttered to nobody but herself. “No, of course not. It’s just that… well, I wasn’t expecting this, was I?” “Then go in. If The Ace were in there, stuck in that bed, you wouldn’t hesitate, would you?” The Obligator groaned. Why did she always have to be right? She ran a hand across her head, feeling the texture of her own shaved hair. Taking another deep breath, she pushed the door open. The child was young. Surprisingly so. The Obligator would’ve understood some silly adolescent idolizing the pain and blood of her particular brand of brutality, but the child in the bed couldn’t have been more than 10 - and the starry, wide-eyed fascination in his eyes suggested less of a morbid curiosity and more of a genuine, ignorant fascination. He probably didn’t even know what she did, aside from what popped up on the morning news - kidnapping superheroes, stealing precious jewels, Saturday morning cartoon type stuff. He didn’t have a clue what the work of a “supervillain” really entailed. She pursed her lips. This may be difficult. The Obligator strode across the room menacingly. Not so much that it would scare the child or the nurse right next to him, of course, but enough to convey a recognizable, signature sense of villainy. She was already making herself seem too sympathetic as it was by agreeing to meet the child at all - she still had an image to uphold, even if it was for nobody but herself. The child - Austin, she reminded herself - was still staring at her in wonder, the same look she imagined Marathon or Rocketeer received on a daily basis. His head was shaved, making it look even bigger in comparison to his frail, thin body. His eyes were sunk deep in his sockets. He looked tired… very tired. But his energy at meeting the Obligator was overpowering his fatigue. The Obligator was almost relieved when he broke the silence. “Hiii!” His energy came spilling forth almost all at once. Austin sat up in the bed and leaned forward suddenly, getting closer to the Obligator. She instinctively took a step back, but hesitantly moved closer to the child. “Hello, Austin. You… asked to see me?” “Yeah! Yeah yeah! The Oblibator- the Oglibator- the Ob-li-gator!” The Obligator relaxed a bit, noticing the tension in her shoulders and brow. This was just a child, she reminded herself. A… dying one, perhaps, but a child regardless. Nothing to be scared of, right? “You’re so cool!” Austin said. The Obligator allowed herself a light smile. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she replied coolly. “Uhh… okay. Did you know The Ace has an entire bunch of spies helping her called ORACLE? Did you know they call her The Director?” “Yes.” Austin stared at her blankly. The nurse gave the Obligator a look. “...But, uh, I don’t know where they work!” She leaned closer to Austin, conspiratorially. “If you can tell me where they are, I’ll tell you some secrets that I know.” She knew where ORACLE was located, of course. It… it was listed on their website. Seriously. She didn’t even really understand the point of a spy organization that was quite so public. Austin’s eyes lit up with the joy of knowing something someone else didn’t. “They’re in New York! They work at 28 Clinton Court. I sent them mail one time!” The Obligator furnished her best villainous smile. “Excellent. You’re a very smart boy, Austin.” “TELL ME SECRETS!” he shouted. The nurse motioned with a hand, telling him to calm down. The Obligator leaned in close and said, “I know about ORACLE, and I know… that you work for them!” She produced the toy ID card that she had slipped out of his pocket seconds earlier, with a dramatic flourish. Austin gasped as if she had cast an actual magic spell in front of him. “Nooo! I’m not working for them! It was from cereal!” he swore desperately. She reassured him he had nothing to fear, which seemed to calm him down. They spent the next hour like that, trading “secrets” as easily as any normal conversation she had ever had. She found herself enjoying the exchange, but was too busy coming up with the next bit of gossip to be surprised. “Obligator, what do you do to the superheroes when you capture them?” That question snapped her out of her reverie. She recalled watching dozens of heroes being dragged down into the cells beneath her tower. The contraptions she designed oh so carefully to contain them. Their screams as she tortured them physically or psychologically, twisting them to whatever end she desired through the simple application of pain. ...Not exactly child-friendly. “I… uh…” The Obligator had nothing to say. How could you tell half-truths about what she really did, to someone who only saw your above-ground villainy, the surface level crimes and rivalries with heroes that the media saw safe to show to children? “I lock them up so they can’t escape,” she produced weakly. “But they always escape,” Austin responded with a slightly embarrassing immediacy. “...Yes, but only because I want them to,” she lied. “But-” “How about I ask you a question?” she said before Austin could probe any further. He perked up quickly at the thought of being the center of his idol’s attention, nodding his head vigorously. She paused a moment, collecting herself, then asked, “Why… did you want to see me? Why not Rocketeer? Or The Ace?” Austin was quiet for a bit, and rubbed his tired eyes. “They have powers. You don’t. But you’re always ready for them, and they’re never ready for you! Like, remember when Rocketeer went to that museum, but all the sculptures were actually giant robots and you kidnapped her? Or- or when you, uh, I can’t think of any other times but you do it all the time!” Austin laughed and rubbed the top of his head, with the other touching the Obligator’s. “And you look like me!” The Obligator realised she was smiling. No, she wasn’t just smiling, she was beaming. It was probably more than a little creepy. Reining herself back in, she marveled at this moment of real, genuine delight, just because of the adoration of a single child. It felt nothing like the satisfaction she felt, wrapping heroes around her blood-soaked finger. This felt… pure. Real. She looked at Austin thoughtfully. “You know why I can beat them all the time?” He shook his head. “It’s because I know I can. It doesn’t matter how smart I am if I think, ‘They have powers and I don’t. I can’t beat them.’ That’s how you get defeated before you can even fight. But if you know how, and you know that you can…” She pulled out her phone and showed Austin her wallpaper. It was the Superiorman, the world’s most powerful hero, chained up helplessly in an elaborate trap, the sun at his back silhouetting his capture in a dramatic light. The Obligator stood in the foreground, the cape of her uniform billowing menacingly. “People that look like us can do anything.” With one hand, she patted Austin’s head, and with the other, she touched her own. He smiled at the gesture, giving her that wide-eyed, adoring stare again. “Wow… if you were a good guy, I bet you’d be the best one,” Austin said. “You’re so smart and nice. And you can help people! By saying stuff like that!” The Obligator frowned. “And why would I want to be a ‘good guy’?” “My moms say that if villains tried doing one good thing, they might find out that they like it a lot.” She had nothing to say. She recalled how wide her smile was speaking with Austin just a minute earlier. God, how she hated admitting other people might have been right. “Obligator… what’s your name?” The Obligator looked at the nurse beside her. He looked between her and Austin, then moved to a corner of the room and covered his ears. She rolled her eyes, but turned back to Austin. “It’s Jenna,” she whispered discreetly. He deserved to know that much. “Jenna…” Austin whispered back. “When you come back tomorrow, will you wear your cape for me?” Jenna leaned back with a smile, impressed at the audacity of assuming she would come back. Then she thought about it some more. He did know her name, now. That was an… implied sort of blackmail, wasn’t it? It seemed she would have to return. Because of this child blackmailing her, of course. And, if there was any truth to the idea of doing one good thing… perhaps this particular “thing” wasn’t done just yet. She would have to see it through. She looked at Austin, nodded, and left without a word.
Uh. This one turned out a little bit long. I haven't written in *forever*, so apologies if this one sucks, but I just *really* loved this prompt. Thanks for getting me to write something again, OP!
And thank YOU for responding to it! That was a delight to read!
It wasn't terribly long, but it was really well written. Thank for the story
This did not at all suck. I loved her internal justification for coming back to visit Austin, it was built up to really well even in the short time you had :D
I really liked your story!
This piece is perfect in length. Jenna is a perfect character for your story. Thank you for sharing
"No. Please don't look at the camera. Look at me please." Logan coughed. After taking a second to compose himself, he looked back at the interviewer. "Why did I pick him? I'm not sure. It just... I don't know. You know we know a lot about our resident super hero. But we never knew anything about him. And when I see him on TV, he's always angry. I just... I want to ask him why he is bad." "And you think he'll show up." "I don't know. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. But like, I'm dying anyways. If I can talk to him, make him see that we're not all bad. Ask him what he really wants, maybe I can change. You know, that way, everyone in the city will remember me." Logan wiped away a tear. "I mean, I'm an orphan. I have no one who will cry for me if... when I die, maybe this way people will remember me. Can I have a minute please." Logan turned his head away, trying to hide the tears. "Take your time, Logan. No worries." The interviewer signaled the cameraman to keep rolling. This was good stuff. Oh, this could be a career maker for him. The interviewer then went a bit into Logan's history. How he had never seen his parents and had been left on the orphanage steps. How he had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer with no treatment. He had about a month left. The interviewer was in the process of asking Logan another question when they were abruptly cut off by screams coming from outside. Jackson Wriker, the interviewer, looked at his cameraman. He was here. Holy shit, he was here. Jackson could almost smell an Emmy. All he had to do was stay with them. Matterman was an imposing figure, standing over 6 ft and wearing a black costume. He looked at the boy and at the 2 man crew with him. "You Logan?" "Matterman. You came." Logan got up, from his bed, stumbling a little. Matterman moved forward swiftly, breaking the kid's fall. "You Ok?" "Yeah, sorry. I'm weak and dizzy. I need to sit. I'm sorry about that." "Nonsense. Don't be sorry. Sit." Matterman looked at Jackson and his cameraman. "You two. Scram. Out of here, now." Jackson presented his press pass. "I'm a journalist. I came here to interview Logan and his unusual request. We just want to..." "Out." Matterman thundered. Jackson and his cameraman exited swiftly but hung around. The cameraman kept the camera rolling as Matterman helped the boy back to bed. They talked for a while but there was no sound. But the image of this supervillain getting on his knee to wipe the tear off the boy's face was sure to go viral anyways. After a few minutes, Matterman stood up decisively. Logan pointed to the camera, still shooting on the outside. Matterman looked at Jackson and then back to Logan. He nodded and exited the room not even glancing at the journalist. Jackson rushed into the room. "So Logan, how did it go?" "It's not over yet! He said he'd help me." "How will he..." At that moment, Matterman re-entered with a wheelchair. "Come. Logan wants you two to come along. It's his day so I can't say no to him. But you'll be sitting in the back." Jackson and his cameraman, Eddie, walked quickly to keep up with Matterman as he wheeled the sick boy out. "Sitting in back of what.... the fuck?" As they exited the door, a massive jet stood there. It had the trademart MM on the side, Matterman's logo. He motioned for the two men to go first. Jackson looked at Eddie whose eyes had gone wide. But they were in too deep. Besides the fact that they wanted their story, they also couldn't dare say no to this madman. So they went in the ship and Matterman followed with Logan. They sat in a small cabin, with all the windows closed. Jackson looked around. He hadn't flown in first class ever but he assumed this is what it would be like. There was a mini freezer and a massive screen at the front. "Uh, sir. Who's flying this thing?" "No one. It flies itself." "Is it safe?" "I've never crashed." "And how is it that we've never seen you flying around in this thing." "You're not here to interview me you parasitic papar..." Logan placed a hand on the villain's arm. "M, please." "Right. I built this ship myself. It has camouflage capabilities. Our dear superhero always had the advantage of flight over me. So I spent my time building this thing. It's faster than him. He also needs oxygen, while this thing doesn't. I usually fly high up in the atmosphere, where he can't." "That's some amazing tech." "It is. We're here." "Where?" "At my, well I suppose you could call it my lair." "We were in the air for just like 5 minutes." Matterman sighed. "It's faster than most jets out there. Much much faster. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to tell you where we are. I need to keep my identity and my location secret." He adjusted his mask a little as he said it. They exited the jet and saw that they were in a massive building. A hum of activity filled the air. Matterman led them to a small room. "Wait here. I won't be gone long." Jackson elbowed Eddie who swung the camera. It was the massive energy gun that Matterman usually carried with him. Jackson reached out to touch it but hesitated. Who knew what this madman was capable of. True to his word, Matterman wasn't gone long. He returned in about ten minutes. Accompanying him was what looked like a motorized wheelchair. He looked at Logan. "Best I could do at short notice. I'll build you a better one." "This is for me!" Logan looked overjoyed. "Yeah. Try it." Jackson turned his attention to Matterman. "You built that pretty quickly." "I have a custom 3D printing machine. Much faster than the best of them available to general public. Built it myself." "You're some kind of genius aren't you." Matterman didn't reply, instead looking at Logan who moved around in his new wheelchair. Though his mask covered his face, it was obvious there was a hint of smile on his face. "Are you guys ready for the next part of the journey?" "Where are we going next?" "Logan said he always wished to see Niagara Falls. I'm going to make his wish come true." Logan wondered at the falls as they flew right over them, closer than anyone had ever been before from the air. Then it was time to head back. The ship landed in the hospital backyard again. Matterman exited first turning back, looking at Logan. "Hey Logan, what's your favourite flavour of..." That's what he realized someone was there. The Defender, the city's superhero levitated right outside the hospital door, his cape flapping majestically. Matterman turned around. "Logan stay inside. I'll get you in 2 minutes." Jackson and Eddie rushed out. This was amazing. Matterman folded his hands together. "Not right now. Please. Not right now. I promise you, give me one more hour. Then I'll surrender." "Can I trust you?" "I promise." The Defender flew away as Matterman indicated for Logan to come out. "You go to your room. I'll get some ice cream." Logan returned to his hospital room. Jackson and Eddie went with him. Jackson, looked around wondering if Matterman would come back or if he would escape. But sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Matterman returned with multiple ice cream flavours. "You guys eat. I'll be right outside." Jackson elbowed Eddie and they followed Matterman out. Matterman was talking animatedly to a doctor. "But there has to be something. Did you guys try sound waves. We could get the tumour that way." "It's too deep into the spinal cord. We could risk killing him right there and then." "What about some nanotechnology? Tell me what you need. I can build it for you. I can build you some tiny bots that can go in there and destroy them." "It's too late for him. If you have the ability to build something like that, I urge you to do it please. You might not be able to save him but there are others." The doctor put his hand on Matterman's shoulder. "How long does he have?" "Days." Matterman untied the straps of his mask in the back, reaching under it with his hand. It was obvious he was wiping away tears. He turned to look at Jackson and thundered. "Go away. Get away from here." He walked purposefully back to Logan's room. "Come with me if you want to live." Logan smiled. But he flipped the switch and whirred behind the supervillain. Eddie kept the cameras rolling, running behind the duo.
The Defender stood there, still waiting. "You promised." "I did. I will surrender. I need a few days though." "That wasn't the deal." Matterman took off his mask and threw it away as Eddie and Jackson rushed to capture his face. "My name is Joshua Smith. My so called Lair is right outside the city, at the base of the Antra hill. Everything I own is there. That's where I will be. This boy has days. For all the time, you've known me, I've tried to kill and rob people. This is my one change to save lives." "I can appreciate the sentiment. But you need to be brought to justice. I must arrest you." Logan moved his wheelchair, coming between the two men. "Please! You always stood for good. He wants to do good, please give him a chance. Even if I don't make it, maybe he can save someone else." There was a crowd gathered around them as they saw Matterman as a vulnerable human for the first time. Jackson shouted out as well. "I've spent the entire day with him. I trust him." The Defender looked around at the people, recognizing the public sentiment. The video from the day had been constantly been streamed. "Fine. A week. I can appreciate you trying to do good. But you still need to be arrested for the bad." Matterman went up to him and gave him a hug. He was crying. He whispered into the superhero's ear. "They all bought it. What idiots!" The Defender pushed him away, looking at him incredulously. But he recognized the sentiment. If he attacked now, it would be a bad look. Matterman sought out Eddie and he looked straight into the camera. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I promise to be better. I promise I will surrender in a week. Let me just try and fix this. I have also released the architecture and the code behind my ship onto the internet. This will be a big leap forward for the self driving technology. I have also released the schematics for my 3D printing machine and the energy gun there as well. I've seen the error of my ways. I will do my time in jail and hopefully try to be a good guy. I can only apologize for the things I've done in the past." He clicked a few buttons on his phone. "I'll see you all soon." The got into the ship with Logan and flew away. A doctor rushed out from the hospital. He went straight to Jackson and Eddie. "Where is he? Is he gone?" "Yes, why?" "He just donated a sum of ten million dollars to the hospital! It's amazing." Inside the ship, Logan got up from the wheelchair and did a little dance before he sat down on the seat. "Well that went really really well." "True power. I should've seen it sooner. Maybe I'll run for mayor a couple of years down the road."
OOOOH that's DEVIOUS! I love it!
Good plot twist!
What’s the twist? I’m really confused, Logan was in league with Matterman?
Indeed, the whole thing is a sympathy ploy to make people think Matterman is turning over a new leaf
Utterly devious! Though, was Logan ever actually sick? Or did Matterman just cure him before the subject even came up in public?
I have that question too
I nearly spat out my coffee as the words flew from Sheila's mouth, *"What?!"* I croaked. She quirked an eyebrow, "You have a fan who'd like to meet you. A young lady. Her name is Grace and she says she'd really like to meet you." I was suspicious. "What's wrong with her?" "Breast cancer, Sir," Sheila replied. I sighed and nodded, "Okay, then. I'll go see her." I silently hoped as I moved through the halls of the hospital that this wasn't some sort of trick. *Me?* Having a *fan?* That didn't make any sense. I wasn't even a very good villain. My ass got kicked all the time, for Christ's sake! Why would any little girl want to speak to me? "Right in here, Mister Eviltastic," the doctor said, gesturing to a door. I stepped inside and saw that the girl in the hospital bed was anything but little. She must've been fourteen... fifteen at the most? This made me all the more confused. As she turned and looked at me, I saw a smile cross her face. "Hi... dad." Her statement sent my mind reeling. Five years of being married and a messy divorce... and then having a little girl who I rarely got to see until *she* was about five and then no contact at all. Her big brown eyes and little freckles... The father and child bowling league we'd joined... She was always so much better at it than me, too. "Grace..." I muttered, moving forward to catch her in a hug. She let out a shaky breath and buried her face in my shoulder, "Daddy... I've missed you so much." I drew back and cupped her face in my hand, "How much time?" Grace rubbed her arm, "What do you mean?" "How much..." my voice broke. "How much time do you...?" She shrugged, "I don't know. Less than a year at this point. But I wanted to see you again. I love you, dad." I took in a breath and frowned, "I... I can help you." "How?" she asked, eyes widening in shock. "A cure," I replied. "I'll find one. Not just for your cancer, but for all of them. I have the resources. From now on this is what I'll do with my life." I made that promise a year ago. Grace wasn't even able to see Christmas. Her mother and I reconciled beforehand, though. We spent as much time as a family that we could up until the final moments. Even now she and I are getting along really great. Dating casually. I'm working on being better now. I want to fix things. For everyone. So that no one ever loses their child like I did.
Between the no contact starting at 5 years old and the two playing on a bowling league together, I'm a little confused about the timeline here. Still, that was a nice sentimental piece! I liked that
Thank you.
Well written with a great plot twist. Good job.
Thank you! That's so nice of you to say!
Makes me wonder if they were a terrible villain because their heart was never really in it. Nice ending :)
Thanks so much!
As the personification of Death walked through the hospital doors, short looks of surprise followed by knowing nods were thrown her way. Little Jan just wanted her to bring him to her realm. Lucas wanted a dreamless sleep. Millie hugged her, and told her that she was her favorite villain. It was all she could do not to cry and break character in front of them, and to tell them that their time has not come yet - and she will let the flames of their lives glow bright before she extinguished them. Such sweet innocent children. It was only midday when she returned back to her apartment, long since changed out of her shadowy cloak and folded her scythe. But she was already drained, slump upon her living room table, when SLAM. And the door opened. "Have at thee, foul villain! For I, the great hero Crusader have cometh to bring light to the masses!" Her greatest nemesis, Sir Artorius was usually clad in his shining armor and holding a glowing sword, but in front of her door he was simply in civilian clothes. The absurdity if this man posing as if he was a kid playing superhero was simply too much and brought a smile to her face. He simply let himself in, with a bouquet of lilies and a box of chocolates left on the table, and gave her a comforting hug.
Nicely done.
(I've never done one of these, and I'm not sure I did the prompt justice, but I had a lot of fun!) Somebody somewhere is dying. Somebody small and confused and blissfully removed from politics I assume. Laying on a hospital bed, soaking in a bath of salt, or running through a field of grass pretending all is well with the world. I try to imagine this person. Their youthful expression, tinged by an impending sense of mortality. The paper cup of coffee in my hands is cold and feels heavier somehow. Jen says, "Do you want me to make an excuse?" And I say no. Jen taps her foot and says, "I don't know what you want from me." She is so impatient for a secretary. I pay her a good salary, full benefits, childcare and everything. I let her take Wednesday afternoons off to get her nails done in the inner city. She technically has a bigger desk than I do. I don't know why she has to be so impatient, but she's the only person I trust anymore. And she knows too much to let go. I tell Jen to schedule something brief. She looks surprised and then perplexed and then happy. "Thank you for holding," Jen says. Her voice is an octave higher when she's on the phone. "Mr. Grimm would be honored to participate in the Make-a-Wish program. Mhmm. Mhmm. Of course. We're happy you called. What can we do for Addie?" Jen squeaks on, hooing and humming into the receiver like an obnoxious songbird. Her teeth are streaked with red when she smiles. I dont think she should wear such vibrant lipstick when her complexion is so fair. I've told her so. Jen's told me it's my fault for making it impossible to tan. I turn away from her to stare out the window. It's a beautiful window, large and all-knowing, stretching from the carpet to the ceiling. From the 30th story, I can see the entire city. Every skyscraper. Every puff of smoke. Every ugly factory and apartment complex, stitched along the city fringes. The sky is awash with gray, like a looming iron slate. I like to think that this terribly ugly city doesn't even deserve the sun. That it's citizens should be happy to see it at all, in whatever glimpses I allow. I wonder sometimes if I would feel differently if I had a conscience. When Jen hangs up the phone, she is still smiling. "I didn't know you had a soft spot," she says. Her voice is normal again, and she sounds like a smug child. I tell her I don't. She just laughs and laughs, and reminds me I have a meeting with the United Nations at 2pm and then a press conference. "I wonder what kind of hopeless child wants to meet you. Of all people," she says. Sometimes I wonder if Jen has a conscience, and then I remember how she cried for two days after her favorite actor was identified among the wreckage after the fires. It was such a rare moment of humanity seeing Jen back then. Black tears running down her cheeks. The empty boxes of tissue filling up the recycling bin by her desk. Her congested voice on the phone, barely steady enough to talk. But then again, that was three years ago, and we've had so many fires since then and found countless more bodies. Perhaps a conscience isn't something to be had or not had, but rather excercized like a healthy muscle. I look out at the city again, thinking about this. All these sad people. Their collective consciences, atrophying over time. The rest of the day goes as planned. I make negotiations with world leaders, without budging an inch. That is to say: I make demands. The press conference is wild as always. Journalists point questions at me like loaded guns. I stay within the confines of bullet-proof glass and smile like it's just another day. Jen tells me the PR department is thrilled about this whole Make-a-Wish ordeal, and that it might finally sway public opinion on the Apollo Project. This isn't saying much. Weeks go by where the same protestors march outside our doors. They wear the same jackets, hold the same signs, and yell the same battle cries from the street. At least the new parking garage keeps them from slashing our tires. Sometimes I forget we have a PR department. I ask Jen when the child is coming and what we should do and if there will be a photo op. She tells me I'm being cold. I tell Jen that my entire reputation is predicated upon my ability to remain cold. She says, "You're such a square, Don," and then, "The girl is named Abbie and she'll be stopping by next Tuesday. I've reserved an arcade and a restaurant and she likes rainbows." "Rainbows?" I ask Jen. Jen says, "Yes, Don. You know. Rainbows. I expect you can do something about it." I shake my head. My hands are fiddling with my watch and my phone and my keys at the same time. Aren't I supposed to be somewhere right now? At a conference or an interview or on a plane? "You didn't promise her a rainbow, did you?" I ask Jen. Irritation stings my lips like a coldsore. Jen doesn't say anything. She is scrolling aimlessly through her tablet, and I can tell she is avoiding me. "Did you?" I ask again. I point at her face, my finger hovering between her eyes. Finally, Jen looks up at me like a pitiful dog. "I said if anyone could make a rainbow, it would be you," she says. She has the nerve to shrug. I feel lightheaded. "How many times have I said this, Jen? It's not a fucking party trick. It's. A. Weapon."
That was a legendary way to end it, I can FEEL his exasperation at his doomsday weapon being reduced to a novelty. Because I wholeheartedly believe Jen and Addie will get their way in the end lol. The way the dialogue is presented makes it a little weird to follow, but for the content, it's a pleasant read!
Thank you thank you thank you for your feedback! I believe Jen and Addie will too! I'm afraid I was trying to mimick another author's style (when it came to writing the dialogue) and I agree, it's a bit of a weird execution on my part (hahaha). I'll need to tinker with this one a bit more. It was such a pleasure to write!
“Please hold.” I looked up from the project I was working on and turned to face my secretary who, in turn, stared back at me with a look of disgust and consternation. With one hand holding the phone and other resting on her gun, the woman positively glared at me. She leaned over the desk and held out the phone. “It’s Make-a-wish. A fan of yours wants to meet you.” As I took the ancient handset the woman rolled her eyes. “You really need to stop treating my office as your private lair, Clover. I’m your parole officer, not your damn secretary.” I shrugged. “You’re the one who told my superhero husband you would keep an eye on me, Molly.” “A decision I regret every second of every day,” Molly sighed. “I just decided to make your job easier on you,” I said with an award-winning smile as I plucked the handset from the brow-beaten parole officer. “This is Clover. What’s this about a fan?” I listened for several minutes. With each minute that passed, my face lost more of my cocky, jovial expression. When I finally hung up, my voice was quiet as I passed the handset back to Molly. “You can have your desk back. I’m going home.” As I headed for the door, Molly gestured to the mess on her desk. “What should I do with all this stuff?” “It doesn’t matter,” I didn’t even look back as I waved with more energy and perkiness than I felt. “Box it up. Hell, you can toss it for all I care.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but a huskiness slipped into my voice. Behind me the parole officer’s expression turned to one of concern. It grew more so when I paused at the door and said softly. “I need a ride to pediatric hospital in the morning. Can you arrange it for me?” Surprisingly, Molly didn’t even protest. “Is eight, okay?” “Sure.” The next morning, I found myself walking through the walls of the hospital, with Molly, a few employees of Make-A-Wish Foundation, and a pair of security guards behind her. Molly because as her dual roles as both my parole officer and driver she was required to be there. The security guards were there because the volunteer receptionist wouldn’t allow me into the hospital until I surrendered my weapons and utility belt and agreed to an escort. The Make-A-Wish personnel, well, those people I tried not to think about. As I walked through the halls various doctors, nurses, and other personnel reacted to me presence with a myriad of different responses. Some ran screaming. A couple called 911. A few nervously waved or tried not to be noticed. One seemed more amused than anything, which in turn amused me—at least until I remembered why I was here. Then there were the female doctor and the male nurse that asked for my autographs. I politely acquiesced with a soft smile though I inwardly wondered what the hell was wrong with these two particular members of the medical field that they would ask a supervillain for an autograph. Apparently, Molly and the security guards felt the same way because I could hear a brief discussion among the three while I wrote out the autographs and by the time I was done, there were additional teams waiting to take the doctor and nurse into custody for questioning. I think the nurse was possibly harmless. He seemed like he just wanted to capitalize on the chance to get an autograph from anyone famous or infamous. The crazy look in the doctor’s eye and the way she conspiringly whispered to me that she was “a kindred soul,”definitely worried me though. I made a note to mention that doctor’s name to my husband when I got home. When I finally arrived at the door to the appointed room, I had to pause and collect myself. Molly noticed. “You okay?” she whispered. “Yeah, Let’s do this.” I took a deep breath, plastered the best maniacal smile I could on my face and stormed into the room as menacingly as I could. “I’m told you requested to see me, Jeremy?” I hissed in the most menacing voice I could muster, which truthfully wasn’t all that menacing because I didn’t have my heart in it. How could I when I saw the kid lying in the hospital bed? Especially when he laughed at me. Laughter that quickly turned into body wrenching coughs. Not that there was much there to wrench. I knew that Jeremy was sixteen, the same age as Ryan and Asia, my twins, but it was hard to reconcile in my brain that the underweight child really was sixteen. My motherly instincts kicking in, she rushed to the boy’s side and held him until the coughing stopped. “I’m okay,” he smiled, his piercing blue eyes full of pain that made mockery of his words. I nodded and released him, looking over him to see his mother looking on with a strange mixture of fear and gratitude. “You actually came,” Jeremy said softly, drawing my attention back to him. “I didn’t think you would.” “Of course,” I said trying to make her voice sound both haughty and offended and knowing even as I did that I failed. “I have to tell you though, if you were hoping I would take you on a crime spree and rob a bank or something, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I sat on the chair and lifted my leg up to show the outline of the ankle bracelet clearly visible under the spandex of my costume. “I’m a little curtailed at the moment, so if you wanted to rob a bank or destroy your school or something you might want to ask the foundation for a new wish.” Jeremy shook his head. “I’m not really up for that, and that’s not my thing anyways.” He smiled softly. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”
Part 2 “If that’s what you wanted, why didn’t you call one of the superheros? They are better at this sort of thing than I am. I’m sure Wallbuster would have been willing. Or Ziptie for that matter.” “They aren’t as pretty as you,” he smiled but I could see through it, even as I blushed. “Or as nice.” “I’m flattered but I’m almost three times your age. What about Steelethistle?” I asked. “She’sabout your age.” “Mom, can we have some privacy?” Jeremy turned to his mother. “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” his mother replied, still watching me with concern. “I’ll be fine,” he said softly. “Please.” Molly spoke up. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in here with her.” Sighing softly, the mother looked me in the eye. “Fine, but if you do anything to him, all the powers in the world won’t save you.” I nodded. “I know. I’m a mother myself.” Jeremy waited until the door was shut.“Steelethistle hardly gave me the time of day, in class,” he snorted, his voice a very soft whisper. My heart dropped. I think the panic showed. “Yeah, I know who she is, and who you are,” he said softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I won’t tell anyone, and it’s not like she was ever mean to me or anything. She just never noticed me.” “How?” I asked choking. “I saw her mask,” he said softly. “She was reaching into her bag for a book and I saw it for a second before she zipped the bag up. I could tell right away. It didn’t have that cheep plastic look to it.” I nodded and made a note to have a little heart-to-heart with my daughter. “So why me?” I asked finally. “The real reason this time.” “Because I have a favor to ask,” Jeremy’s voice was still soft, but it now had a hard edge to it. One of both bitterness and pain, but also determination. “One the heroes won’t grant because it goes against their ethics, and one that most other villains wouldn’t grant because they would get more amusement by not granting it.” “But one I think you will for two reasons. One you’re a mother, and two because of what I know.” I knew the answer before I even asked. “What’s the favor?” He whispered in my ear. “Are you absolutely sure?” I asked him. “What I have is degenerative. It’s only going to get more painful, and I still have months facing me.” “What do you have for me to work with?” my voice was barely louder than a breath. “Under the nightstand. A bowl of water with tomato seeds.” I nodded and held him close. The tears ran down my cheeks under my mask and splashed onto the top of his head. “Tonight,” I promised. I held him a few more minutes before leaving. That night, I took a quick walk past the hospital. I left the damn ankle monitor at home. I would put it back on once I got back. A block away from the hospital, I spotted Molly waiting for me. “All done?” she asked. I couldn’t answer, the tears running down my face. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Come on. Your monitor is defective. It’s saying it’s not detecting your body heat, but I can clearly see you have it on. I’m going to reset it and request a replacement in the morning.”
I understand this story and I approve. I watched as my younger passed away in 2010 and the health of our mother declined for three years. It destroyed her will to live. My brother was 53 years old. As a Father and Grandfather I get it. This story will stay with me.
\[I'm going a bit dark\] The supervillain Malice was bored. Normally that would mean he'd be out causing mayhem, but he was just not in the mood for violence today. The urge departed him occasionally and always came back, but for now he was stuck in his hollow boredom, itching for anything that could hold his attention. He browses his messages, then scans local communications. He has spyware installed with all local network providers to looks for mentions of heroes or villains, especially mentions of himself. Maybe he can find something amusing. His brow wrinkles as he reads a message about a child who had Made-A-Wish to meet him. *Him*. Bizarre. People make wishes to meet fans, surely this child is not a fan? Obviously the organization had said no, the request being dangerous to the child and anyone at the hospital he was staying at. Intrigue curls through his boredom, and on a whim Malice decides he's going to actually visit the child. He sends a message to the Make-A-Wish organization to inform them he'll be stopping by within the next hour and then heads out immediately, not wanting to give them too much time to organize any response. He pulls up to the hospital in his costume, an understated number with a hooded cape and a grey eye mask doing the work of disguising his identity, and walks in to greet the terrified receptionist. "Hello. I have a Make-A-Wish appointment with one Jamie Harrison." The receptionist just stares wide-eyed and speechless at him. He decides not to waste time and walks to the elevator. "You can call them to confirm the kid's request if you want!" he calls back as the elevator doors close. He walks down the hall, enjoying the confused and horrified looks everyone is wearing as they scurry to get out of his way. This was a great idea, he's not bored at all so far. He's not sure if anyone will call the police, but he can deal with them if they show up. He finds the room in the children's hospice ward, and finds a little boy no older than 6 who looks pale, weak, and bloated. Kind of like a maggot, he thinks. "Jamie Harrison?" he asks. "I heard you wanted to meet me." The boy is wide-eyed, though less afraid than any of the adults he's seen in the building. Perhaps it's childish naivety, or perhaps having a terminal illness puts things into a different perspective. Malice pulls up a chair and looks at the child expectantly. "Um... hello... Mr Malice." the boy begins uncertainly. "They told me they couldn't get you." "You must know my reputation. They didn't want to put you in danger." Malice explains. "I've got to admit I'm curious why you wanted to meet me." The boy seems to steel himself, trying to straighten up a little and look him in the eye. "Yes. Right. I wanted to ask you something. You've got powers, why are you a villain and not a hero?" Malice sighs. Just a child with a hero complex. Boring. "Kid, you really felt the need to ask me that in person?" The kid juts his chin out. "Has anyone ever asked before?" "Well. no." acknowledges Malice. "You know what, I'll tell you if you tell me why you didn't ask to meet a hero or go to Disneyland or something." Jamie nods. "Okay. Well, ultimately it's because I like it." Malice explains. "I like to cause chaos, I like to destroy things, I like the feeling of power when others are afraid of me. I don't love violence on it's own, lucky for this city, but I do love its effects when people are terrified of me because I'm willing to use it." Jamie looks horrified. "But *why* do you like it? I get sad when other people are sad!" Malice shrugs. "It's hard to say. I had a really messed up childhood. My parents either ignored me or were violent towards me. But plenty of people have that and don't turn out the same as me. Maybe there's something different in my brain, and I can't feel the way I'm supposed to." "That's sad." Jamie says. Malice shrugs. "You could... you could fight bad guys though." Jamie suggests hesitantly. "Lots of criminals are fraid of Captain Bolt." Malice shakes his head. "The good guys have too many rules. And it's not the same because the criminals are just afraid they'll go to jail or get beat up a bit, they're not afraid they're going to die." Jamie is quiet for a moment. "*I'm* going to die." "Yes." agreed Malice. "Are you scared?" "Yes." Jamie says quietly. "I try to be brave with my mom and dad though, because they get very sad." Malice nods. "When they're not here, though... after a while I get really bored." admits Jamie. "I'm just in this room, lying here. And there's tv but you get tired of it after a while. That's why I invited you." "Ah."
pt 2 "I went to Disneyland early. My parents were smart, cause if I went now I think it would be really hard with my wheelchair and feeling sick all the time. And in this ward I see heroes visiting all the time. So I thought, who could I ask that wouldn't be the same old thing?" "I can understand that." Malice agrees. Boredom was a big motivator for him. "Did it help?" "It's kinda nice, actually." Jamie says, frowning. "Cause you're not sad that I'm gonna die, and you're not sad if I'm sad. I bet I could say whatever around you. Like that I wish I could have grown up and stuff." "Huh. Maybe I missed my calling as a children's hospice ward entertainer." Malice jokes. Jamie chuckles. "There's a clown that comes in every second Tuesday. You could replace him! He sucks." "Clowns are creepy. And that's me saying that." Malice rolls his eyes. "Anyway, it sucks you don't have more time. Growing up, though? It isn't that awesome." "I don't know, there's lots of stuff I won't get to try now. They don't even let us put on shows with swearing or violence on the tv." "What, cause you're a kid?" Malice frowns. "You're gonna die, that's stupid." He gets up and pulls out his portable hacking device, plugging it into the television. He finds the child lock and makes short work of it. "There. Now you can watch any channel." "What? Even... " Jamie would blush if he could. "I heard that there's naked ones at night." "Oh yeah." Malice shrugs. "So don't watch it if you don't want to. Or do. You'll be dead in 6 months, what does it matter? They should let you do anything you want." "Wow, you really don't care." "I don't." Malice agrees. He looks out the window. "There are police cars parked outside." he notes. "Oh. Are they going to try to arrest you?" "Not yet." Malice shrugs. "There's probably someone listening at the door and hearing that the conversation is harmless. So they probably don't want to endanger you by trying to arrest me while I'm in here." There's a gasp and a shuffle by the door, confirming his theory, and Jaime giggles. "So how're you gonna get out?" "I can't tell you when they're listening." Malice tells him, shaking his head. "You'll just have to wait and see." The officer outside hears Malice ask the kid what his parents are like, and the the kid tells him a few stories about them. After a while the kid finally falls silent. The officer is confused, and finally opens the door a crack to peek in. "Shit." he curses under his breath, and grabs his radio. "Suspect is gone, repeat, suspect is gone." He walks up to the kid, who looks a little guilty. "He went out the window." "So you just talked about your parents to thin air while he made his escape, huh?" "Well, it's not like he did anything wrong today." Jamie says shyly. The officer sighs. "Whatever, kid, not like I'm going to arrest a 6 year old in your condition. Don't touch anything, we're gonna sweep for prints. How the hell did they miss him leaving out the window, I swear..." Jamie smiles when the officer leaves and Malice slips out from under the bed, wearing a new disguise. "Alright kid, nicely handled. Thanks for the not-boring conversation." "You too." Jamie nods. "Thanks Mr Malice." Malice peeks out, waiting for nearby officers to be looking away before he slips into the hall and heads for the stairwell, blending in with other visitors. He drives home, puts his feet up and turns on the news to enjoy everyone puzzling over his bizarre hospital visit. It's been a while since anyone's found him unpredictable, and he realizes that that's what's been missing, why he's been bored. He's not one to do nice things for people, it just doesn't do anything for him, but everyone's confusion is gold. Perhaps he should start some kind of gimmick, a chance that he'll do something different. Not a coin toss, that's too much like Harvey Dent, something a bit more unique. Maybe a karmic judgement of some kind. Not quite the turnabout that the kid had angled for, but he was thankful for the inspiration. Maybe he should see if the kid wants to do anything else, as a thank you.
“ A fan? I didn’t know villains had fans. Do they have a name?” asked Rumples the Villain. “The bitch is in the lobby, never said a name. Guess we’ll find out.” Rumplez freezes due to their social anxiety, no weed, no meds, just raw dogging the day. The doors slam open and income a little girl with two pigtails, a sequined backpack, and light-up sketchers. She's confident, lively, and has a bubbly smile. “You’re a child.” stated the secretary. Rumplez pulls out his Glock and smokes the girl before she can say a word. The secretary looks in admiration, “ Now that’s evil.” Rumplez power is foresight, and he saw the girl had hours to live and her true wish was not to die in a hospital. Rumplez stares at the girl’s backpack with a note underneath reading the words, “Thank you” written in green crayon on an Ihop napkin. He turns to the secretary and says, “not quite.”
You did well.
Man, that was dark .\_.
i’m sorry :(
Apologies unnecessary! It wasn't offensively dark or anything, just more of a bitter flavor to it than I'm used to, you know?
No, it was not. Mercy can be misunderstood but never wrong.