《Predetermined Power》


 Chapter 1: Shot Through the Heart

    The way I see it, everybody¡¯s an idiot. Whether you¡¯re a genius mathematician, a surly detective, or a big-shot crime boss. Or even me, said crime boss¡¯s son. All you need is one little moment of stupidity, and the next thing you know, you¡¯re dead, and the people who killed you will be rewarded and paraded around as common heroes.


    Which is absolute bull. I saw my father surrender, before they gunned him down where he kneeled. So what if he was a major crime lord? Everyone needs to make a living somehow, and that shouldn¡¯t give them an excuse to murder him in cold blood.


    Nonetheless, I know that the only reason I¡¯m even alive right now is that I knew that my dad would slip up. As an avid history fan, I¡¯ve read about my fair share of people who¡¯ve fallen victim to avarice and hedonism. Each and every one of them ended up murdered by their enemies. So, I might have made some modifications to my window, in case I needed to make a silent getaway. I had a nice go-bag too, so on that fateful night, I slipped out, as quick and as quiet as a wink.


    The only problem is, I didn¡¯t think much past escaping the mansion. I had the skeleton of a plan. In its entirety, my plan was: get to Koreatown during the weekend. It¡¯s been three hours since I skipped out on the RIPD deathsquad, I can¡¯t take the metro without the fear of getting arrested or killed, and Koreatown is still six miles away. Thanks, city planners, for making our great metropolis have the most awful road system ever to be thought up. If I could go straight, then I could get there in maybe a half hour. It¡¯s funny, according to Rex Inductus: The First Megapolis, this is the most technologically advanced city on the planet. Yeah, tell that to the homeless dude I just walked by, who was sleeping in a grungy alleyway that smelled worse than Hell.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    On the bright side, it¡¯s a full moon, and Luna is staring down on us all, silently judging our stupidity. The cracked sidewalk beneath my feet glows faintly under the light of a flickering street lamp. I plod ever forward, the route to Koreatown firmly engraved into my mind.


    I¡¯m starting to feel tired, running from murderous cops and contemplating plans for the future is really draining. As I sit with my back leaning against the metal wall behind me, I take a quick moment to check my stuff. Pickpockets are everywhere, after all.


    First, I might as well go from my feet to my head, just in case some super decided to magically steal my stuff. I have my fancy black self-tying shoes on, covering my white socks. Above that, cargo pants with knee pads over them and a black shirt. Over that is my varsity jacket, because team spirit is always the key to victory or something. To be honest, I¡¯m only wearing it because I was had it on when the deathsquad kicked the door in. I¡¯ve also got my fingerless gloves on, which I had brought in my bag, along with the knee pads. Loosely gripped by my right hand is an aluminum baseball bat, which I grabbed for obvious reasons. My messenger bag that I have hung across my body, still has everything in it that I might need, from food to a lighter. With everything accounted for and me feeling slightly rejuvenated, I stand up and continue my steady march.


    Today is Friday, and my watch says it¡¯s twelve seventeen, so in a few more hours Koreatown will be open for business. For me, and people like me, that is. For the commoners, it¡¯ll be locked up tighter than a hero¡¯s trophy room. If I remember right, the switch is at three AM, and it takes me three hours to walk six miles, so I¡¯ll be there perfectly on time. I hope a communicator is on time there too.

 Chapter 2: Clashing Ideologies

    It¡¯s funny how differently the cops treat criminals and supervillains. It¡¯s probably due to an unspoken rule, like how supers never get personal, even when they can. Either way, it is immensely unfair, but that¡¯s just another way that supers are above commoners. They can act however they want, within limits, because they have the potential to decimate hundreds. I remember reading some old newspaper clippings, from before the Great War, saying how the way into the future will not follow the law of the jungle. How the way forward would be truly civilized. I guess it¡¯s not their fault; after all, nobody could¡¯ve guessed that superpowers would happen. That and magic, but that was all the Nazi¡¯s fault. Superpowers, though? Only God knows why they popped up, and He ain¡¯t the talkative type. Some Eldritch Ones might know, but most of their drivel drives people insane.


    But that¡¯s the end of my rambling history lesson because I¡¯ve finally gotten to Koreatown! After about three hours of walking, it¡¯s now three thirty in the morning, and I¡¯m standing in front of a massive closed metal gate. The gate is mostly for appearance''s sake, considering the open alleyway that is literally right next to it, but it¡¯s enough to keep the commoners out.


    As I walk through the pass, the scenery around me changes from that of a dreary, run-down complex of sprawling two-story apartments and becomes dreamy run-down apartments with fancy lights and Korean signs everywhere. The best part about this place, and the only reason I came here, lies half a mile down the main road. The Kim Amphitheater, famous for its lack of chairs, as well as being a hub of supervillainy, or just your average organized crime. I¡¯m here for a mix of both, that being a hush communicator who can get me in contact with my dad¡¯s most loyal assistant, June Way. Weird name, I know, but I¡¯m pretty sure she chose the name by picking a random month and a type of street. You see, she used to be a big-shot counter-intelligence operative, who decided being a good guy didn¡¯t pay well enough. Therefore, her name is definitely a fake one.


    She taught me most of what I know about surviving in the supervillain world. I still remember my first trip to Koreatown, at the tender age of six. A mugger thought it would be safe to try and rob us. I wonder if that mugger ever got a replacement eye?


    Well, no point reminiscing alone. I need to find a communicator, and the best ones are in the amphitheater. Then, I¡¯ll talk with June, and we can find whoever drummed up the evidence needed for the RIPD to get their warrant. After all, it¡¯s best to learn from others mistakes, and to get rid of potential problems before they can bite me.


    I make my way down the avenue, walking despite my desire to sprint right to the building. On second thought, maybe I should¡¯ve sprinted, if the man who suddenly stepped in front of me is an indicator of anything. Wearing a featureless black helmet and a red striped black suit, it¡¯s quite obvious what he is. An assassin, specifically one working for Blood Debt. Besides their cheesy name, Blood Debt¡¯s assassins also have the bad habit of trying to turn their targets into moments of enjoyment. So they do things like blatantly revealing themselves and taunting you.


    ¡°Tye Rochester, we¡¯re here to kill you. Don¡¯t bother running, it¡¯ll just make this more fun. But hey, if you surrender, we¡¯ll make your death quick.¡± His mask distorted the sound of his voice, causing his voice to be filled with hisses.


    What¡¯s with this clich¨¦ dialogue? What is he, an NPC? On second thought, he might be. There was that one time when Game Master opened a portal to a bunch of different video game realms.


    ¡°Hey, are you an NPC? I have a contact who could get you back to your world if you want. If you¡¯re not, you should up your banter game. I mean ¡®prepare to die¡¯? Really? Next, you¡¯ll tell me your name is Inigo Montoya. No wonder people say you assassins have no soul." I¡¯m prevented from insulting him more by the appearance of two identical assassins appearing beside him, holding red daggers. Wow, really filling the mold there, aren¡¯t they? I raise my bat in preparation, time to crack some heads! ...Maybe I should work on my banter game. That was terrible.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I¡¯m not some goddamn fakey! We¡¯re going to make you bleed, Rochester!¡±


    With that promised roar, filled with static because of his crappy voice distorter, all three assassins leap toward me. At the same time, I step back and swing from right to left, hitting each one consecutively across the head with three crisp cracks.


    Thrown off balance, they stumble a bit, with the one on the right holding his head. Learning their lesson, they spread out, and readjust their grips on their knives, probably preparing another charge. I take another step back, brandishing my bat. I can¡¯t let them surround me, because if they do, I¡¯m done for. I¡¯ve fought off people like them before, but I¡¯m not exactly the greatest baseball bat wielder.


    Mid-step back, I find myself thumping against a hard object. How did I run into a wall, there¡¯s an open street behind me? Turning around, I see that it¡¯s not a wall, just a giant in a modified Blood Debt outfit. Well hell, this is gonna suck. If I remember correctly from June¡¯s lessons, this guy is probably Vendetta, one of Blood Debt¡¯s lieutenants. It¡¯s said that he once tore a resistance-type super limb from limb, with his bare hands. He¡¯s easily distinguishable by his large frame and the red dot in the middle of his otherwise featureless helmet.


    This is not going to go well. Maybe I should start calling for help? Haha! Like that would do anything good. The best I could hope for is some of the Circling Vultures, who would pick apart whatever would be left of my corpse. They would either perform dark magic on those remains, or straight up eat them. The Vultures are creepy bastards, let me tell you. But I won''t tell you right now, ¡®cause I¡¯m going to be pummeled into a Tye meat pie.


    Fortunately, a figure bounces off of the top of Vendetta¡¯s head, before skipping their way onto the helmets of the other three assassins.


    Landing with a flourish in the middle of us, is a person dressed in a bafflingly large degree of colors. I¡¯ll start with the bright red burst of color atop her head, commonly known as hair. This is followed by a neon green scarf covering the lower half of her face. Below that she has a bright pink hoodie, underneath which is a bright yellow shirt. Her short shorts, which are barely visible under her blinding jacket, are an unusually gregarious orange. Thankfully, the mysterious girl''s shoes are a manageable purple, but they could still use some shading. She has pale skin and unusual light blue eyes, that clash violently with her red hair. If I were a gambling man, I¡¯d say that her superhero name is probably related to her terrible fashion sense.


    The garish girl turned towards me, and when she blinked I realized she also has glittery eyeshadow, colored a striking light purple. All this assured me of the fact that this girl is, most certainly, a caped super. A caped super is just a fancy, neutral term for a superhero or supervillain. They¡¯re all capes because they used to wear capes back in the day.


    ¡°Hey there, I¡¯m Clash. Would you like some help?¡± The now-named colorful cape asked enthusiastically.


    ¡°Me? No, not at all. I can totally take on four guys attacking me all at once, one of whom is gigantic and at least three times my strength. It¡¯s my speciality.¡± Okay, maybe I layered the sarcasm on a bit too thick, but she¡¯d have to be thick-skulled to not notice that I am in dire straits.


    ¡°You sure? I mean, these guys look pretty tough, and you only have a metal baseball bat. Do you even have powers?¡± The ditzy Clash asked, clearly confused despite my clear and obvious sarcasm. Let¡¯s hope it¡¯s just an act. Also, who just outright asks people if they have a power? That¡¯s damn near taboo!


    However, I don¡¯t have a chance to respond, because Clash suddenly flits out of my vision, accompanied by the crack I recognize as one of the assassin''s helmets being whacked. Suddenly, we¡¯re standing back to back, and I¡¯m facing Vendetta. He cracks his knuckles menacingly, before taking a step forward.


    This royally sucks.

 Chapter 3: What鈥檚 a Rave Without a Laser Lightshow?

    As Vendetta approaches me, his arms held wide like some gargantuan wrestler, with me unable to step back due to Clash behind me, I decide to reflect on my life. After all, this might be my last few seconds alive.


    I was born to Cormac and Mary Rochester, in the mansion which I lived in for my entire life. My father was the classic gang boss, holding himself high, being fancy and speaking in veiled threats. He was also quite a competent accountant, funnily enough, and ran a legitimate business on the side. My mother was a super, but she was, according to my father, too gentle a soul to fight anyone. My father spoke highly of her, but refused to tell me her power, always saying it was unimportant.


    I went to private schools for most of my life, but my father decided that I needed to learn how to be around regular people once I got to high school. I¡¯m not sure what he expected, but I swiftly made my own little group of friends. There are three of them, quite a clich¨¦, I know, but they¡¯re good people. I¡¯ve known them for over three years, so if anyone would known it¡¯d be me.


    First, the living clich¨¦, John Doe, yes that¡¯s really his name. He loves sports, but the universe saddled him with the classic powerset of super strength, speed, and damage resistance, usually called the Supersolider set. Supers are not allowed to play sports, so he¡¯s forced to sit in the bleachers, using superpowered lungs to shout encouragements to our team. John is also a major cape nerd, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if someone told me he has every cape in his massive binder. It looks hilarious, seeing this 6¡¯4¡±, handsome giant of a man, gleefully giggling while adjusting his cape figurines.


    My next friend, Don Michael, though people usually call her Donny, is the rebel-type of the group. She¡¯s got it all, leather jacket with a popped collar, shirt dark red hair, usually smoking a clean cig while leaning against a wall. Unfortunately, she also fills the heart-of-gold delinquent role, in that she loves cats and can be seen helping grannies walk across busy intersections. Hell, her motorcycle has a seat belt and a backrest, for safety reasons. I¡¯ve never seen her go past the speed limit, even in an empty stretch of road. I¡¯m sure she makes people¡¯s hearts melt.


    The last member of our little troupe, Brooke Hyper, would fit the bookish nerd archetype, if not for the biting comments and scalding insults that seem to constantly stream from her lips. I once saw her talk a mugger to tears, from her criticisms alone. The only reason I know her well enough to call her a friend, is because she and John nerd out about capes together. Brooke¡¯s your typical perfectionist, with practically her entire life planned out. Granted, she¡¯s the heir to the Hypertech throne, so it probably isn¡¯t that hard to structure one¡¯s life around that. Contrary to popular belief, her dad¡¯s a great guy, if a little soft-spoken. It¡¯s hard to believe that he runs a multi-billion dollar company that makes almost everything related to technology. That¡¯s the magic of superpowers, I suppose.


    The four of us make a real hellion crew, or we would if I wasn¡¯t wanted by the cops, and about to be crushed or ripped apart by a giant supervillain. I¡¯m going to miss those dorks.


    I¡¯ve spent the last few seconds making rapid swings at his hands, ineffectually attempting to bat them away. With a short lunge, he grabs the baseball bat, ripping it from my hands like candy from a baby. I lean back, preparing to brace myself, which causes me to realize that Clash is no longer behind me. I leap back, before risking a glance behind me. The three assassins lay in a clump. From the looks of it, Clash slammed their heads together, which was probably what that big cracking sound was earlier.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.Seeing as how she isn¡¯t here now, she must¡¯ve ran off. Not much of a surprise, considering how strong Vendetta is. He¡¯s a super to boot, but I can¡¯t remember what his power is at the moment.


    As soon as I think this, the universe decides to play a joke on me, in the form of a laser beam narrowly missing my foot. Oh right, he can shoot lasers. That¡¯s probably what that dot in the middle of his mask is. It¡¯s not some fancy design, I bet it amplifies the lasers or something!


    Switching my gaze from the hole in the sidewalk to the big man himself, I see that the errant beam was sent because he¡¯s in the middle of a fight. Clash didn¡¯t abandon me after all, it¡¯s a miracle! Or it would be, if she could actually do any damage. From what I can see, the blur of color is doing little more than love taps, judging by how Vendetta is responding to the hits.


    The street around them, however, has dark burns covering it in patches, because of Vendetta¡¯s red laser periodically shooting out out of his. I looked around, to see if I can find a better weapon. Instead, I find myself spying an Asian man, presumably a Korean considering where we are, staring out his window. When he notices me staring, he turns away and closes the blinds, leaving me to find some way to turn the tides of this super battle.


    Drastic times call for drastic measures. Reaching into my bag, I pull out a white mask, similar to a hockey mask, with two holes for the eyes and a gridded pattern protecting the mouth. I close my eyes, running my fingers over the ornately carved bone-white surface, before pressing it to my face. It sticks on, allowing me to lower my hands. I open my eyes and breath in deep. I haven¡¯t worn this thing in too long. I wonder if I¡¯m still remembered?


    I rush towards Vendetta, my previous fears all but vanished in the wind. All I need is to get that helmet off of him, and it¡¯ll be a done deal. He should recognize me now, considering I wore this mask when I spooked his former boss.


    Racing towards him, I can see his stance change from one of aggressive defense to full blown panic.


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting away, Vendetta! You remember what I did to old Deadly Eye, don¡¯t you?¡°


    Clash stops, a very puzzled look forming on the visible part of her face. However, despite the tides turning, she decides that Vendetta is still an enemy, and trips him up when he starts to run.


    His helmeted face bounces off the concrete of the road, and I¡¯m on him before he can begin to pull himself up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do this, please! I can give you anything! I¡¯ll- I¡¯ll serve you for life!¡± Vendetta¡¯s voice shakes as he desperately crab walks away.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late now. Not to sound cheesy, but are you ready to face true fear?¡± I know, it¡¯s stupid, and I doubt that he can even hear me, but let me embrace my inner chunibyo.


    I reach out and pry his helmet off his head, revealing a face only a mother could love, especially with all the tears and snot covering it. I guess, when you¡¯re facing your biggest fear, anyone would be an ugly crier.


    In one last act of fear, he shoots his eye lasers at me. The glance off the mask, leaving a pristine surface behind. Then, I lean forward and fully activate the mask.


    His screams echo across the nearly empty street.

 Chapter 4: The Face of Fear

    As I stand, leaving the passed out Vendetta on the sidewalk, Clash pops up in front of me. The vibrantly clothed girl is damn near vibrating, an awed look sitting on her face. It reminds me of the face John made the first time he saw Multimax in person. Ugh, hero worship is the worst.


    ¡°Holy freaking crap! You¡¯re Visage! The Face of Fear, the Mask of Malcontent, the Terrifying Tormentor who no one can overcome! I¡¯m, like, your third biggest fan! I only became a villain because I was there when you robbed the Bank of Hope. You were so cool, and all menacing. You even made that one guard pee himself!¡±


    I quickly tune out the constant stream of praise relating to my various conquests. It¡¯s so embarrassing. I mean, seriously embarrassing. I got the mask during that edgy faze, you know the one, where you listen to My Technological Romance and wear black clothes all the time. I got my father¡¯s permission, after I got some training, to go with his crew and rob some places, as well as attack other gangs. One of these places was the Bank of Hope, one of the biggest banks in the city.


    I didn¡¯t choose it because it was big, no, my edgy younger self chose it because my mask makes people deathly afraid of me, to the point of passing out if I amp it up enough. I liked the theme of the Face of Fear attacking a place with hope in the name. Ugh, it¡¯s so embarrassing to even remember it.


    Realizing I¡¯m still wearing the cringey mask, I quickly take it off and shove it back into my bag. Ignoring Clash prattling on, I quickly continue walking down the street. Sure, it¡®s rude, but it¡¯s better than hearing about all those past embarrassments. And here I thought that my three year hiatus would make people forget about me. After all, a new cape pops up every day, so surely little old me would be quickly lost to time.


    Apparently not. Oh well, I¡¯ll just try to forget about it, because I still need to get in contact with June Way. I¡¯m quite glad that I didn¡¯t get dragged off anywhere, allowing me to keep walking down the same gray street. The splashes of neon do give the main way a neat look, but the barred windows and unpainted concrete walls severely detract from the coolness. Added to the fact that all of the buildings are almost exactly the same, with two stories, three windows, and a flat roof, gives the place a dour feeling.


    Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, a burst of hues races in front of me.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not done gushing about you. But whatever. Could you at least give me your autograph?¡± She presents a notepad and pen to me, practically shoving them into my face.


    ¡°Fine, think of it as payment for helping me.¡± I quickly scrawl out something that looks like Visage, if you squint really hard. ¡°Here. Now leave me alone. Or else I¡¯ll spook you.¡±


    ¡°Really? I¡¯ve always wondered what that¡¯s like. That¡¯s where you use your mask to knock people out, right?¡± Her enthusiasm is boundless and entirely too exhausting.


    ¡°Not quite. It¡¯s where I increase the mask¡¯s fear output, which overwhelms a person¡¯s mind. This either makes them go unconscious, or become catatonic for a few hours. Now, I need somewhere to be, so if you wouldn¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll be off.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going? Can I help in any way? Aw, it feels so cool to say that!¡±


    What an absolute mess. See, this is why I don¡¯t wear the mask anymore. I either get battered by fans who bring up my most embarrassing moments, or I get challenged to duels. Can I say anything that would get Clash to leave me alone? Probably not. So instead, I¡¯ll just ignore her.


    Wait, where¡¯s my bat? I take a peek over my shoulder, and see Clash following less than a foot behind me, fondling my baseball bat. What a creep! At least she has some use, though. I can just get her to carry everything.


    Fine, maybe I¡¯m being a little rude, but I¡¯m just so sick of people getting up in my business. It¡¯s the main reason why I got out of the limelight, and took off the mask. Speaking of my supervillainy career, it looks like villains are finally beginning to filter into Koreatown.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of black on the rooftops, and across the street I see a stone skinned boulder-shaped person wearing a sumo wrestler¡¯s loincloth. I hear a pop, and a man wearing a black suit and domino mask falls from the sky, landing in a classic superhero pose, with one knee on the ground next to their splayed hand. I give a small round of applause, and he nods to me, before giving a confused look over my shoulder. Clash is probably doing something weird.


    I continue walking down Korean Way, the main road to the Kim Amphitheater, seeing villains entering via their own methods. There was a thick green puddle that bubbled out of a sewer grate, a bird woman who flew down and entered a shady-looking building, and a tiny old man who flew past on a hovering wheelchair.


    Every so often, I¡¯ll hear Clash mutter a quiet ¡°wow¡±, so it¡¯s probably one of her first times here. Makes sense, considering her strange inclination to stick her nose in other people¡¯s business. Here in Koreatown, doing that could get your nose cut off.


    As we approach the Kim, thumping techno music begins to fill the air. Looks like the Black Market is open for business.


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s with the music?¡± Clash inquired from behind me. I turn to face and see her looking about, trying to find its source.


    ¡°That¡¯s Technorius¡¯s theme song. He¡¯s the Merchant of Machines, so he¡¯s got some gadget that projects music. He¡¯s also the quasi-leader of the Black Market. Since your clearly a newbie, I¡¯ll give you some simple instructions. Don¡¯t talk to anyone who looks important, unless you want to buy something. If you do, make sure you know exactly what the price is. You don¡¯t want your soul bought, do you?¡± She vigorously shakes her head. ¡°Good. Now give me my bat. I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re still following me, but if I¡¯m going to have a jockey, I might as well make sure you don¡¯t get me into trouble. You won¡¯t get into trouble, will you?¡± She shakes her head again with a grin on her face. I hope that no is genuine. We walk in silence for a time, before I turn to her again.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re almost to the amphitheater. This is your last chance to leave.¡± I kinda hope she leaves. Judging by how she¡¯s acted since we first met, I know she¡¯ll get into trouble.


    ¡°No way, this is so cool! I mean, I¡¯m with the real Visage, getting to see amazing villains, and am about to visit an actual blackmarket. How could I not want to keep following you?¡± Her energetic little speech would be cute if one didn¡¯t listen to what she was saying. As it is, it¡¯s sort of weird. Then again, I was probably similar when I was younger.


    ¡°Alright, just don¡¯t tell anyone I¡¯m Visage. As I am now, you can call me Tye. One more question. What¡¯s with the mishmash getup? Most people actually try to match with a theme.¡° It¡¯s been bothering me since she bounced off of Vendetta¡¯s head.


    ¡°Oh, that? Umm, well, it¡¯s kind of embarrassing. Are you sure you wanna know?¡±


    ¡°Yes, obviously. That is why I asked.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find any clothes that matched. I forgot to do the laundry, so I just grabbed whatever I could.¡°


    ¡°Okay, but that doesn¡¯t explain your eyeshadow. It also doesn¡¯t match!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I figured that I might as well keep the theme of not matching.¡± I guess that¡¯s a good enough excuse.


    ¡°You should still get a better costume, though. I can take you to a tailor after my business is complete. Now come on, the faster I finish, the faster you can get a better suit.¡±


    I wave my hand at her, beckoning her to hurry up so that I can talk to June. We rush our way up to the theater, zipping around other ambling villains. Finally we¡¯re at the Kim Amphitheater. I crane my neck, staring at the grand structure that really doesn¡¯t belong in this run-down slim. It¡¯s good that it¡¯s here though. Makes everything so much easier. After preparing myself, I walk though the large metal double doors, entering the heart of villain-run Koreatown.

 Chapter 5: It Takes Two To Tango

    A cool, artificial breeze washes over me as I step into the opulent amphitheater. It feels good to be back in a familiar place, after all the bad that''s happened. First, my father''s demise at the hands of the ''great defenders of our city,'' then the hours of walking, which coupled with the assassination attempt, has really thrown me off my rhythm. Of all the places, this is the closest to my heart. You can buy anything from fancy jewelry hand-crafted by expert jewelers to illegal genetic modifications created by a mad scientist without a degree and stored in an old heroin needle. Despite the dangers, everyone knows; if you need something, you go to the Black Market.


    In this case, I needed two things, but one of those is only a side objective caused by my unfortunate new attach¨¦. First, I need to find a hush communicator, that is, a person who''s power allows them to contact people at far distances without being detected. Then, I''ll need to take Clash to see Trisha, the best tailor under this amphitheaters dome. Honestly, I don''t understand how someone who''s just starting out decides that they''ll wear whatever they have on hand. Even I thought about my outfit for my debut, and I was fourteen! Granted, the costume was a high-collared black trench coat, but still.


    "Alright, here''s the plan. You have a habit for getting into trouble, by your own admission, so no matter what, stick by my side and don''t talk to anyone. Well, besides telling them to go away. Got it?" I ask Clash, who nods rapidly in response. "Now, I''m not sure if I said this earlier, but I''m here for a communicator. Once I finish up, then we''ll go get you a costume. I am not doing this from the goodness of my heart. That means that you''ll have to pay for it yourself."


    "That sounds reasonable. But, funny story, haha, I didn''t actually bring any money." She at least has the decency to look sheepishly at the ground.


    I''m going to be totally honest; I don''t know how this girl has survived in Rex Inductus for so long. I guess luck and powers really can solve any problem.


    "Fine, I will pay for it, but you''ll owe me however much it costs. If you can''t pay me back, then you''ll have to work for me until you do. Do I make myself clear?" There, that should set her straight. Knowing Trisha''s prices, Clash probably won''t be able to pay me, so I''ll have a free minion!


    "I''ll pay you back, but can I still have the job anyway? Working for THE Visage would be the greatest thing ever!" She hops about, disrupting the villains and minions moving around us.


    "Sure, but let''s discuss all that once I finish up with my business, okay? Now move over; you don''t want to annoy anyone, especially right at the entrance."


    I pull her off to the side of the main thoroughfare and take a gaze down over the amphitheater. Because of how it''s built, the center of the amphitheater is at the lowest point, in an area called the Pit. That''s where the best, or the worst depending on your morality, villains set up shop. The higher up you go, the crappier stuff is. The Pit is filled with grand tents, well-made shacks, and even a few proper buildings that have somehow sprung up in the three hours that Koreatown''s been closed. With so much space, I can only barely see people moving around those shops. I''m not sure why this amphitheater is so ridiculously massive, with a max capacity of half a million people when sitting on chairs, but it''s incredibly useful. It''s also weird that the chairs can sink into the floor, but honestly, I''d say that is the least bizarre thing, considering it''s a villain establishment over the weekends. It''s a real party during long breaks, for the villains, that is.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I stop my aimless staring and search for the symbol of a communicator: a wavy line inside a circle. I can''t skimp on the money, since I''m being tracked by the cops for working with my father, at least according to my phone. So, scanning the Pit, I realize that I am way too high up to be trying to find a small, ambiguous symbol. I grab onto Clash''s arm, causing her to give off an un-cape-like squeak of surprise, before marching my way down, avoiding the bigger and more dangerous looking villains. While looks aren''t everything, they are important enough that they can''t be overlooked. Also, to a supervillain, looks are almost everything. You either look like the most intimidating monster ever seen on this planet, or you follow a theme. My route had been a mix of both, with intimidating armor and black clothing. I wonder if any of my old stashes are still around? June probably knows where better gear is, though.


    As we walk, my possible colorful minion is staring in wonder at our surroundings. With every bioweapon or death ray we pass, she tries to stop and stare. And trust me, we go by a lot of those. I saw Professor Raiment sitting behind a stall that was covered in clothing and disintegration rays. Then there was a gigantic maggot held up by robotic limbs, probably a bioweapon. It was selling jars of putrid green fluid, the same fluid dripping from its mouth and sizzling against the ground, as well as maggots the size of an arm, outfitted with tech that turned them into freakish guns. All of this was situated on top of a giant beetle, which was calmly laying on the ground, its attentae flicking wildly to and fro. Farther down was a classic mad scientist, trying to auction of his death ray. Even this early in the morning, there were a good five people bidding.


    I have to admit, the quality of villains has really gone up in the past three years. I mean, I did go to Koreatown on the weekends during my hiatus, but I didn''t go to the Black Market. It almost makes me wish I never quit.


    Fortunately enough, before I can begin reminiscing about the good old days, I spot a black tent with the communicator''s symbol. It''s styled less like a camping tent and more like a classic carnival tent, but all black. If this wasn''t indoors and with a powerful air conditioner, it''d be hot as hell. Moving around to the front of the tent, still dragging Clash behind me, I bear witness to the great communicator''s door! That is, a small opening in the tent, which has to be moved to enter. Definitely not the poshest, but then again, it''s only been three hours.


    "Okay, now we''re here. I want you to stay right in this area, not getting into any trouble whatsoever. If I hear the faintest sound of a fight, you can no longer become my minion once this is over, got it?" Clash does her, now signature in my mind, rapid nodding, almost causing her green scarf mask to get loose.


    "Uh, so quick question, why are we here, anyway? I know you said to talk to someone, but who, and why?" The extremely colorfully dressed villain-hopeful stares up at me with her best puppy dog impression. It doesn''t work. No, really, it doesn''t!


    "I''m just talking to my mentor, who I hope will be able to assist me in an endeavor. Don''t worry, I''ll tell you about it, if, and only if, you become my minion. So no fighting. Got it?" My fierce question is responded to with another burst of head bobs.


    All I can do is hope that her villain worship is stronger than her trouble magnetism. I turn around a walk through the carnival tent. Glancing up right before I enter, I see the words ''Call of the Lloyd: Hush-Hush Communications'' written on the sign hanging above the entrance.