How To Be a Super-Villain {an origin story}

2 • Enlist a Mentor (So You Don't Get Your Ass Kicked In The Field)

• unedited  •

-4 years later-

          "The eagle has landed- I repeat, the eagle has landed, over."

"Cash, I'm not going to say this again: you only refer to the president of the United States as the 'eagle'." an annoyed voice in my ear responds as I turn away from the target and slink into the shadows of the alleyway behind me. I shrug even though there's no one there to see me and start scaling the two-story brick building next to me with ease. "Also, I know. I can see through your mask."

"Both of you, stop muckin' around. I don't want to lose him." a deeper, sterner voice cuts in through the bluetooth. The Gladiator is British - that's why he uses weird slang like "muckin' around" and always sounds like whatever he says is being broadcasted live in Times Square. It's a wonder how my less exotic American accent hasn't been British-washed by his, especially with how much time we've been spending together in the past four years.

I roll my eyes and huff jokingly, "I'm just trying to lighten the mood, Father. Poor Frank is probably bored to death back in the sewers." I leap up the last few feet and roll stealthily over the pipes on the edge of the building's roof.

"First of all, don't call me Frank or I'll dropkick you all the way to California." Frank snaps, but I'm not scared because he's all bark and no bite, anyway. "Second of all... yes, it is a little boring here. But I'm sure it'll be less boring if the AC wasn't broken and I wasn't being cooked alive in this hellhole."

That last part is for the Gladiator, I'm sure, as our AC is still broken and he's too paranoid to get someone to go fix it. Although I'm surprised a man who can hack into government databases can't even fix a simple household machine. Frank really is something.

"California? Hm..." I fake-ponder while I wrap a hand around the lock on the ceiling window. My powers go on autopilot as I will the lock to unlock itself - a practice I've been doing ever since I was fourteen. "California's nice. UCLA's a good college - I was admitted there too."

An explosion erupts from the street in front of the building, sending car alarms blaring cacophonously in the night. I grin, despite the sudden tension due to the short time window I have to sneak in and neutralize the target. "The Fourth of July's in a month, what's the rush?"

From the other side of the three-way line, I hear the Gladiator growl dangerously, "Enough of this college talk. That's your cue."

I'm already dropping into the top floor of the building, silently breaking my fall with a roll. I scan my surroundings, taking in a dingy living room and kitchen connected to a dark hallway, which probably led to the bedroom. The target, as expected, has his head poked out the window overlooking the street - the one where the explosion occurred.

"What in the-" the balding man whispers in shock. "My car!"

I move towards him noiselessly, making sure my tall frame doesn't create any shadows casted by the streetlamp on the sidewalk outside.

"Hurry up, Cash," Frank says quietly but quickly, losing his joking tone, "Three at the door. Loaded."

I leap forward just as the target starts to turn around and wrap my arms around his neck. I have to neutralize him. He thrashes in my chokehold, his thin neck close to being snapped by my flexed biceps. So close. If I just squeeze a little more, his head will pop off. If I just will his neck to be squeezed, without tightening my hold physically, his head will pop off.

"Cash, neutralize him." Frank says. I can't decipher his tone at the moment, as I'm overcome by a dizzying sensation. What am I doing?

Angry at my lack of control, I release the target altogether but before he can spin around and attack me, I grab his head with both hands and will his brain into a deep sleep. The man slumps to the floor and I whirl around just in time to throw up a force shield. The door bursts open and three men, like Frank warned, rushes into the room, guns blazing.