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

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

The bullets bounce off my shield, but with each emptied clip, the shield weakens. It doesn't matter, though, because the shield stays up long enough for me to race forward and wrench the AK-47 out of one of the men's hands. The shield drops just as I grab him with my arm, making sure his head isn't directly in front of mine in case he tries to knock me out with the back of his head, and pin the barrel of the gun to his temple.

The other men stop immediately, as expected. Throughout our hunt for these wanted serial killers, we've learned that they're related. It's a family business. The young man I'm holding hostage is probably the son of the man I've just put to sleep by the window - they have the same oily black hair.

"What do you want, you masked freak?" a bigger and older man says, his eyes glaring into mine.

After quickly assessing him, I notice the cool, confident stance he holds, as opposed to the smaller young man next to him and in my grip, who are both shaking in fear. This is the leader. This is the true serial killer. His eyes glint as he watches me give them a once-over. The little spark in them reminds me of the crazed gaze I've grown so used to in my past, and I tighten my hold on the squirming hostage.

His gaze is trained on the general area of my eyes on my face, but he doesn't quite land on target, as my mask is faceless and the only way I can see out from it is through the microscopic next-century camera-like gadgets embedded on the eye-level surface of the cloth. Courtesy of Frank.

It's always funny watching people search my faceless face - trying to hold my eye contact. That gives me a boost of confidence. Knowing that he has no way of knowing who I am, and what I am capable of. Sure, he knows I'm obviously a Super, but he doesn't know to what extent. My lips curl up into a dangerous smile beneath my mask, wishing for once that the men in front of me can see it.

"Freak? I'm wounded, truly." I say dramatically, clutching the hostage's heart because I can't visibly clutch mine with the oaf locked in front of me. "Here's the deal: you lead me to your creepy little basement where you store your dozen kidnapped teenaged girls, and I'll consider not making you feel pain like you've never felt before."

Frank speaks up in my ear, "Yeah, because pain is what a family of serial killers fear the most." I resist the urge to roll my eyes and shoot back a snarky comeback.

The Gladiator shushes him, "Let him work." To me he encourages, "Good job, Son, now just continue stalling them for a little longer. I'm just," he interrupts himself with a grunt, "neutralizing a few guards, but I think I've almost got it-" The sound of fighting and gunfire continues and I shift my focus back to the men in front of me.

The leader is looking at me with a devilish glint in his crazed eyes now. He's attempting a grin, but it looks more like a grimace due to the scar on one corner. Or maybe that's the look he's going for. "Who do you think you're talking to, kid?"

"A group of serial killers? But that's just me. I mean, I don't want to label you? I know how restricting labels can be." I say conversationally, even grinning at how pissed off they are all starting look.

Roaring in anger at being taken so lightly by such a "freak", the leader lunges at me, apparently not giving a crap about me threatening to shoot his partner. I jerk backwards and drop the gun. With my free hand, I hold the leader back with my powers and force his hands together behind his back, all in one second. 

He looks shocked for a bit, even though he obviously knows I'm telekinetic, but the body always experiences a little shock after being touched by someone, when the mirror neurons can't even detect such a movement by that someone. But then the man recovers quickly and starts desperately running in place, and I'm reminded of an angered bull.