LeftOvers - How to Become a SuperVillain and Take Over the World

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Smart, I thought as I exited the building: telling my only ally to stand back while I shoved my head into the lion's mouth. Yup. Definitely a genius move. Taking over the world isn't easy when you're an A-class idiot.

The air outside was cool and sweet, the sun was warm and hung high in a nearly cloudless sky. It was a perfect day to die from one's own stupidity.

James Matthews was standing next to the entrance of an alleyway, arms folded before him and bulging with muscle. He locked eyes with me and refused to look elsewhere. With a motion of his head, he pointed at the darkness of the alley.

Another alleyway. Awesome. I was really, really starting to love alleyways. This one was dingy and shadowed, with bags of trash piled up besides a dumpster that gave off a rancid smell.

James paced in the middle of it, intermittently covered in darkness and light as he avoided stepping in one of the puddles covering the uneven ground. He stopped when I set foot in the alley.

"You know," he said. "I thought that you might have been one of the good guys." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling what he had combed over. "I had a hard time sleeping yesterday, and I started thinking about you and what you did, how you must have seen what happened from a different angle." His eyes turned back to me, like a pair of flint daggers. "I thought that maybe I could smooth things over and explain them to you. Because what you did yesterday might have been heroic. Misplaced heroism, trying to save that girl, but heroism nonetheless."

He shifted. I don't know how, but his stance went from calm reluctance to that of a lion about to jump on a field mouse. "But today. Today made everything clear." The smile he gave me would have given the Cheshire cat pause. "Thank you, William."

I felt heavier. Not in some 'I was terrified' sense (not that I wasn't) but in the most literal sense.

James took another step and I felt myself grow even heavier. "Don't do it, Matthews," I growled.

He sneered back at me. "I'm not like you, William. I've dedicated my life to doing good. To eradicating evil. To taking out the trash."

"There are rules against this sort of thing, James," I warned, taking a half-step back. My back pressed against what felt like a wall of nothing. Very solid nothing. It was like trying to walk upwards.

"I know," he said. He sounded almost reluctant. "I'll do my penance, if that's what it takes."

This guy was a freak. Freaks didn't hold back. "You think beating me will fix me? Come on, James, you have to know that this was all some sort of misunderstanding, both times, I swear." I was starting to babble, and I realized it.

He was stronger than me. The physical difference was obvious. He had as much muscle on his arms as I had fat, which was a lot. In terms of power, his gravity thing was tough to work around, and would give him one hell of an edge.

That isn't to say that I could not win. I might have won against him. But we would both be very dead by the end.

I pushed against the barrier behind me, raising my hands in obvious sign of surrender. It was hard, as though my arms weighed a hundred pounds each.

"Maybe not, William, but it might push you to go elsewhere." He took a long step forwards, balling his fist and reeling his arm back.

I winced. If he hit me, I would play meek. Then I would report him, pulling out every precedent in the law to ground his foolish head filled with foolish ideas into the ground. Oh, that was a petty revenge: suing the boy. But it would dash his hopes of becoming a registered hero. After that I would move on to other, more heinous forms of revenge.