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

Interlude One: Mover

Martin Leyv sank back in his chair, the last page of the mountain of papers on his desk rustling as if fell into his out bin. He took a moment to close a few windows on his computer, then let it start its shutdown procedure. The dull glow of his monitor shifted through a few shades, then faded, leaving him in complete darkness within his little cubicle.

It had been a long day.

Martin Levy, also known as the Mondo Mover to anyone who had ever watched the news, was tired. He knew it too. It had been too long since he had had a moment to himself. He ran fingers through hair that was already starting to gray at the temples, and sighed.

"What's wrong, shorty?" A woman asked from the doorway to his office.

Martin blinked back sleep and looked up. A middle aged woman was leaning against the doorframe, a rough leather jacket covering a skin-tight costume ridged by armour plates. What he could see of her face beneath an angular, fire-red mask was grinning.

"Back from patrol, Firebrand?" he asked.

She nodded, her tight smile never wavering. Firebrand always had something to laugh at, even in the darkest moments. "It's pretty quiet out there. Wallets finally calmed down after the Faction moved out of town. No trace of Andrew, but that's not surprising. And we're due to receive aid from some of the academies up north."

"And now it's not our problem," he said.

Andrew Orwell was the charismatic leader of a new political party, one trying to outlaw, or at least regulate, the existence of Supers in North America. He was growing popular. But if he had moved out of Detroit, then he was not a problem for Martin. Or, at least, not a problem he could do anything about tonight.

Martin glanced up at the digital clock hanging on one of his office's gray walls. "Damn, is that the right time? Three already?"

Firebrand shrugged. "Sounds about right." She looked at him, and he caught sight of her blue eyes scanning him up and down. She'd forgotten to wear her contacts, or maybe they had melted again. "You need sleep, shorty," she said dryly. "How 'bout you go home, or better yet, go visit some family?"

"And leave you guys alone?" He asked.

Her smile widened. "Despite what you may think, oh wise leader, most of us can go to the bathroom without you holding our hands. Things are calm, and they should be getting calmer for a day or two. Take half the day off, come in late tomorrow if you have to. We need you well rested and all that."

Her arguments were swaying him. That, on its own, told him of how tired he was. Firebrand had never been so good with arguments that didn't involve punching someone in the nose or lighting something on fire. "You're right," he said.

It was almost worth it just to see her eyes widen in glee.

"No," he spoke before she could say anything. "No need to rub it in. I'm tired, damned tired. And I haven't seen my mother in weeks. I think she'll be happy to see me. And if I have to endure another hour-long lecture about getting married and getting her some grandkids to coddle, well... at least her droning will put me to sleep."

Firebrand walked into his office, her hips moving in a way that his addled mind could not ignore. She walked around him and put a hand on each shoulder. She began to rub his back as she spoke. "Grandkids, eh? I can't picture you with a few brats running around making a mess."

He reached up and put his hand on one of hers. They didn't move for a breath. "I'm already babysitting you lot, aren't I?" He said. He removed his hand, and felt hers lift.

When he turned, she was caressing her hand beneath her breasts, eyes downcast. With the poor light he couldn't be sure, but he almost thought that she had a bit of red on her cheeks. "Yes well... you'd better get going. What time is it where you live anyway?"