(Un)Retired Supervillains

When Abbadon gestured to his minions, they were still turning their guns towards her when she threw both her swords at them. The swords impaled them through their heads and they both hit the ground. Fake-Arianrhod grinned smugly and waved her hands, conjuring a gold spear and a round gold shield. Her hair whipped around her in a non-existant wind and she levitated several feet off the ground.

"Abbadon, you old flirt," she said while slowly gliding closer to him. "You know you just want to get a piece of me. But guess what? Goddess Arianrhod doesn't hook up with pathetic demon despots. I'm just a projection of her and even I know that. Oh, and by the way, the real Arianrhod can feel when her spells have been activated. She's probably on her way right this minute with the whole League of Heroes close behind."

As the projection focused on Abbadon, Stinger tip-toed along the wall towards the back exit. He had stuck the Snakestone Knife into his utility belt and he was still holding the oozing cut on his shoulder.

 

Arwen put herself between the false goddess and Abaddon. "Arianrhod is coming? That is good," she said, standing her ground before the glowing warrior. "This one cannot wait to see the League. This one wishes to have words with them." She flexed her fingers and balled her hands into fists, ready to face the opponent before her. Clearly 'have words' meant something different to robots.

Unlike the others, she didn't fear the League. Arwen had faced them plenty of times. They had turned her into scrap plenty of times. And she came right back to do it again, plenty of times. She wouldn't stop. Justice never stops.

"You are a bully and a terrorist," she said. "You should stand down. This one is not programmed to feel terror and will not tolerate bullying."

 

Abbadon sighed when his minions fell down. Life was so much simpler when the heroes just uses to knock them out. Oh, well, you gain some you lose some. It was nice to know that this was the unconnected to the source type of projection. They were always easier to kill. He bent down and whispered, "I need renforcements here. The two outside stay there."
"I don't this so," he said to the projection. "They are still on the other side of the city, you see. And by the tme they arrive we will be long gone." While he said that he backed away, allowing the robot to dirty her hands on the spell. He was heading to where Stinger was.

 

Gertrude sighed deeply when she heard the League was on its way. Strong-Arm had been featured on Time already, and she nought everything that had his face on it. She hoped that she would be able to take the hunks body home after he was killed. Focus! She chided herself, this mirage probably wouldn't be able to do much, but it was always best to be on a goddesses good side.

"Lollipop?" She said offering one of the special poison lollipops she kept in a pocket of her pocketbook. "I have cherry, bublegum, and blueberry." She smiled up at the Arinhodd.

 

Fake-Arianrhod looked Arwen up and down when the robot stepped up. "Arwen, the defective robot," she grumbled. "Arianrhod has fought you on many occasions and come out on top. This time will be no different." When Abbadon started to creep away, Fake-Arianrhod narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. "Don't go too far, demonic despot," she hissed. "I'm coming for you next."

Then the projection threw itself at Arwen, leading with her shield and holding the spear high over her head. When she was only a foot away, she shoved with the shield and slashed with the spear, screaming an ear-splitting war cry. Across the museum, Stinger had found the back exit and was running through the storeroom, heading for the door that Tax had ripped off the hinges. "Start the limo!" Stinger yelled at Abbadon's minions. "Start the limo, you idiots!"

 

Albert pelted after Stinger. Was Bug-eyes trying to get away without us?
He'd seen little point in trying to fight the apparition, especially now that his powers had to recover. But he felt good. He felt very much himself again. As he ran through the store room, he dragged the battle-axe through some of the boxes, smiling at the crunch as wood, china and metal all met.
The only thing he didn't like was that he couldn't really call after Stinger, as that would endanger his cigarette.

 

Abbadon gulped. He ran after Stinger.
"Do as he says," he shouted. The driver started the car while the remaining minions went to the entrance and covered him.
"If the projection comes this way start shooting. Don't care who's in the way." He whispered.

 

Gertrude descided it was time to, what do the kids these days call it? Bail? Gertrude decided it was time to bail. Tucking into a neat spiral, she broke through the glass on the roof, and emerged into the cool night air. Gertrude cackled madly as she landed on the roof of the limo, and after digging her talons into the roof, she tore a small, Gertrude sized hole, and hopped inside.

 

Abbadon looked at Gertrude in horror. He had killed families for less.
"That... that's just evil," he said.

 

Albert reached the limo and gave Gertrude an impressed nod.
He turned to Abaddon, "Guess my million will have to wait a while longer, then?" It didn't really bother Albert though, he was doing pretty good at the funeral parlour at the moment.

 

Arwen caught the shield with both hands and held on tight, ignoring the spear as it lashed out and whizzed by the side of her head, ripping off one of her antennae. "Unauthorized weapons will be confiscated on sight," she said in her dull monotone voice as she yanked the fake-Arianrhod in even closer, planted a boot in her gut, and kicked back, trying to wrench the shield from her grasp.

 

Fake-Arianrhod tried to hold on to the shield, but was kicked back and flew like a rocket...colliding straight into the huge Egyptian statue, which slowly tipped backwards and crashed into the wall behind it. The entire museum shook terribly: paintings were falling off the walls and ancient relics smashed on the ground. The sound of police sirens could be heard far away, getting closer by the minute. Someone in the neighborhood must have heard all the noise and called the cops.

Fake-Arianrhod levitated out of the wreckage of the giant statue, scowling deeply. There was a long, deep scratch down her right arm and it was spitting gold sparks like an exposed wire. A similar cut marked her left leg and it was also sparking wildly.

"I will end you," the projection hissed angrily. It reared back and, with tremendous force, hurled its golden spear directly at Arwen.

Outside, the limo started to pull out of the alleyway when a magical gold portal opened in the night sky, like a second moon. "The League," Stinger growled. He immediately banged his arm against the window, smashing it to pieces, and pointed up at the portal with his gun. The gun glowed brighter than ever before and released a basketball-sized sphere of toxic green energy. The sphere reached the portal just as Goddess Arianrhod emerged from it and she was blasted right back into it.

Stinger blew the smoke from the point of his gun. "That won't stop her," he growled with a hint of begrudging admiration. "She will be back and more pissed off than ever. The rest of the League is probably on their way in that fancy jet they got to replace the SuperVan. I think it's called the SuperJet." He shook his head. "You would think with all that money they could hire someone to think of more creative names for their toys. Anyway, tell your driver to turn left and go straight, Abbadon. We're leaving Fortress City."

 

Abbadon sighed. His car was just a piece of scrap metal it seemed. His minions fired, one into the museum, the other at the portal. Then they jumped into the car, and were driving away.
"Tell the tree and the robot where we are going," Abbadon said to Stinger. "Which is where, by the way? We could hide down one of my secret hideouts. Maybe even the underwater lair."

 

"We're going to the Dark City," Stinger replied sharply. Dark City was only ten miles away from Fortress City. It was known for having a high-concentration of Mystics, meaning their was an abundance of magical crime. But a gorgeous superhero named the Ethereal Empress, an extremely powerful Mystic, had appeared in Dark City a few years ago and she was responsible for taking down most of the evil magicians. Ethereal Empress had the body of a supermodel, smooth caramel skin, glowing blue eyes, and rippling auburn hair. In fact, all of her costumes were made by the world's most famous designers and she frequently appeared in magazines and in fashion shows. Ethereal Empress was one of a kind.

"We need to locate another one of Morgana's artifacts," Stinger continued. "We have the knife, but there are two more to go. I don't know exactly where it is in Dark City, but I do know that the League hid one of the artifacts there. My best guess would be that they handed it over to Ethereal Empress to protect it. We just need to find her headquarters and steal the artifact, by any means necessary. And no, I won't tell you what the artifact is, for security reasons. You all might decide to turn on me and steal the artifacts for yourselves to take over the world or something stupid like that."

Then the bug alien turned to Abbadon and let out a short gurgle of cruel laughter. "Oh, and the others will catch up," he said. "If not, then maybe they will slow down the League so we can make a quick escape."

 

Yeah, Abbadon made up his mind. Once this was all over he was going to enjoy ripping this control- freak up.
"Dark City you say. Sounds good to me. I have some unfinished business with one Empress there."
He told his driver to head to the city, while also making a call to his people to meet them at the city entrance.

 

Arwen raised the shield to block the spear. It didn’t work. The tip went right through, throwing her back and pinning her to the wall. The looked down at the golden rod protruding from her chest.

“Thank you for your compliance, citizen. All unauthorized weapons have been forfeited to a law enforcement official,” she said as she grabbed the rod with both hands, bent it until it snapped free, and tossed the shield and half-spear aside. Then she merely stepped forward, unpinning herself from the other half.

Sparks and leaking hydraulic fluid streamed from the hole in her chest. Arwen looked down at the ‘wound,’ then shrugged and began to walk away, but her steps had a jerky motion, as if something was broken.

 

Fake-Arianrhod grinned at Arwen. "Not so fast!" she yelled. She flew down to the robot and grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her back and slamming her to the ground. Arwen kicked out at her, but Arinarhod grabbed her foot and twisted it off, then she punched right through Arwen's face and ripped out her circuits. Then the projection threw back her head and screamed, "I AM ARIANRHOD!!!"

"No, I'm Arianrhod," the real Arianrhod said. She was had levitated into the museum from the broken glass ceiling and had been standing behind the projection as she dismantled Arwen. "Begone!" Arianrhod waved her hand and the projection was banished, leaving spiraling gold sparkles in its place. The goddess sighed and kicked Arwen's body, just to make sure she was really truly dead. Then she looked around to see if there were any clues to who had broken into the museum. She gasped when she saw that that Morgana display was wrecked and the Snakestone Knife was missing.

"Goddess damnit!" Arianrhod hissed, golden flames shooting from her fingertips and scorching the floor. A second later the SuperJet arrived over the museum and the rest of the League dropped down into the museum on steel wires.

"Find anything?" Strong-Arm asked.

"ARWN is behind this?" Sharpshooter interjected, pointing at the robot. He scratched the side of his head with his pistol. "I swear, there must be a hundred of her! Maybe more!"

"I told you to stop scratching your head with your gun," Hat Man growled, slapping Sharpshooter's hand. "It makes me nervous."

"It wasn't Arwen," Arianrhod told Strong-Arm. "I think she was just a casualty. I think we both know who was behind this..."

They all looked at each other with solemn expressions. "Silhouette," they all said at the same time. Suddenly, a blazing purple pentagram appeared on each of their foreheads, then disappeared just as quickly. "We have to find her," Hat Man said, "and bring her to justice." They all nodded in agreement.

---

The limo left Fortress City and they were speeding down a long straight road that cut through rolling green hills. They passed by the Blackwood Farm where they first met and left it behind. After a few hours, the sun started to rise over the horizon and they could see the outline of Dark City in the distance. Dozens of skyscrapers stabbed at the sky.

"I know someone who can hide us until the sun sets," Stinger growled. "He lives on the rundown part of town. Just remember when we meet him, don't stare into his eyes. Not unless you want to wake up a week later in Mexico with a missing kidney."

 

Somewhere on the outskirts of Fortress City, a security guard checked his watch. “Well, kid, congratulations, it looks like you made it through your first night,” he said.

“Really?” the other guard said. “Wow, that was easy. Feels like we just sat here, doing nothing.”

“Yeah, some nights are harder than others,” the first guard said as he stood and adjusted his uniform to hide his round belly. “Last Tuesday was pretty rough.”

“What happened?”

“I almost ran outta Twinkies.” The guard bellowed with laughter. “Day shift will be here in ten minutes or so. C’mon, let’s go take one last walk around, then punch the clock.”

The younger guard nodded and followed him out of the control room. They headed down a dark corridor, past rows and rows of metal doors, each marked with letters and numbers.

“You ever wonder what’s in them?” the younger guard said.

“Used to. Not anymore,” the older man replied. “The guy who did this job before me said it’s old crap from some tech firm that the government shut down. A bunch of space-age alien shit.”

“Really?”

“Hell if I know. They just pay me to guard it, not to peek inside.” They turned a corner and saw daylight at the end of the long hallway. “What the hell? Who left a door open?” the guard said and began running --well, waddling-- toward the light.

.”I could’ve sworn this hall was a dead end,” the other guard said to himself. “What door?’

When they got there, they found a hole in the wall, shaped like a person and a typed note pinned there, with a nail:

‘Sorry, could not find the door. Had to get out. Low battery. Need sunlight. This unit will reimburse you for the damages. Sorry.’

“The hell…” the older guard said. He handed the note to the younger guard who turned it over and looked at the back.

‘PS: This unit has no money. Sorry.’

He handed the note back. “So… do I get overtime?”

* * * * *​

Abaddon’s phone began to ring. Before he could answer it, it emitted an awful screeching sound, like an old dial up modem.

“Greetings, heroes!” Arwen’s voice said, first through the phone’s speakers, then a second time through the limo’s speakers. “Public service advisory: this unit is fully functional and ready to serve and cannot wait to meet you at INVALID LOCATION INFORMATION. Please have all necessary forms ready to present to the officer on duty at that time. Thank you, and have a great day.”

 

Abbadon cursed to himself. Why was he even paying has hackers when taking over his systems was that easy?
"We are at Dark City. Meet us there, love."
As they reached the city entrance, he ordered his driver to stop at the side of the road. A minute later an armoured vehicle stopped behind him. Seven soldiers walked out. They all fell to their knees.
"My lord," the captain said. "We await your command."
"Arise," said Abbadon. "I will need you to send some men over to Dark City, all in civilian clothes. Talk to all my contacts there. If the League is in the city I want to be the first to know it. And once I get to where I stay I will need a replacement car. This one, well, needs a paint job. And you," he pointed at two other men. "Merry Christmas. You are coming with me."
He came back to the car and said to Stinger, "Take us to your friend, bug boy."

 

They entered Dark City at noon, but it took them another hour and a half to get to their location because of congested traffic. It was a run-down apartment building with missing shingles on the roof and lots of trash and newspapers littered on the front porch and the sidewalk. Stinger got out of the car and told the others to stay close. Because the street was relatively deserted, Stinger didn't worry about anyone seeing him and freaking out. He led them up to the porch, where a pile of trash suddenly moved and a homeless person emerged from underneath.

"Don't go in there!" the hobo warbled. He grabbed Abbadon and shook him. "The eyes! He can control you with his eyes!" Then he moved on to Stinger and tried to shake him, but the alien grabbed him by the throat, lifted him into the air, and threw him into the street. The hobo coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath. "The eyes! Cough, cough! The eyyyes! Cough, cough!"

"One of my friend's victims, probably," Stinger grumbled. Then he kicked in the front door. They entered a filthy living room with fast food wrappers and soda cans and used napkins all over the floor. Sitting on a brown leather couch was an eighteen year old boy wearing a white shirt with the sleeves ripped off and old, faded jeans. He was watching reruns of That 70's Show on a huge flatscreen TV that practically covered the whole wall. The boy turned and frowned at the intruders when Stinger broke in. Shaggy black hair framed the boy's plain, round face, but his eyes were huge and brilliant purple.

"Hypno-Boy," Stinger said, nodding to the boy. "I was told I could seek your assistance in a time of need."

Hypno-Boy scowled. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't touch my stuff." He waved down a short hallway. "The bathroom is that way. There's two guestrooms, you can sleep in there if you need to. Don't go into my room or I'll make you think you're a chicken for the rest of your life. There's some food in the fridge if you're hungry. And someone shut the damn door." That said, the boy turned back to the TV and ignored them all.

Stinger shrugged, shut the door, and went into the kitchen to find something to munch on.

 

Gertrude pleasently passed the time in the limo by listening to Elivs Presley on her Mp3 player. After hearing Hypnos invitation to raid the fridge, she attacked it and ate everything that wasn't out of date. Minus th cake, her blood presure couldn't go up that high!

 

Albert set his axe down and sat on the arm of the couch, his cigarette nearing its end. He glared at the tv, this program was the most annoying drivel he had ever seen in his life. I was there in the 70s, what has this got to do with the 70s?
He put out the stub and looked around the room, the smell of old pizza hitting Albert full on. He needed a distraction from this. And this room didn't need any more food.
He swept back his hair and turned to Hypno-Boy, "Soo, what do you get up to?" Albert didn't like looking at him directly though, the age was just right for any grandsons he might have had. Oh, and the eyes, they were a bit off-putting.

 

Abbadon cringed when they got out of the car. Some villains just had no self respect. When were the days when villains had elaborate lairs an invited you over for tea? It was the heroes fault. They made our lives living hell, forcing perfectly good bad guys to live in a dump like this. And now a hobo was clinging on to him. Abbadon felt he was about to gag, before remembering something and returning to the limo.

"Take the car away and hide it," he said to the driver. "And bring something else back here for nightfall."

He then turned to his men an nodded. They set off to work beating the poor homeless man up. "Listen dear," he told the hobo. "My pals will be leaving your legs intact. If you are still here an hour from now I will have a bullet in your head. Is that okay with you?" Without waiting for an answer he entered the apartment.

The house itself was as disgusting as the outside. Then Abbadon saw the owner, a teenager. Well, no surprises here. He went around until he found a bedroom an closed the door behind him. Then he opened his briefcase.

A collection of ancient ritual instruments, check. A mixture of spices and incense, check. Toiletries, check. And the detonators, Abbadon smiled to himself, check.

 

"Soo, what do you get up to?"

Hypno-Boy turned slowly and gave Albert a withering look. "Mind your own business, old man." He turned back tot he TV, but then he sighed and turned back to Albert, his purple eyes flashing dangerously. "Okay, I might as well tell you, so you'll leave me alone," he snapped. "I used to be a side-kick to Mr Magician. Mr Magician was the guardian of Dark City before Ethereal Empress came onto the scene. He was a Mystic, but his wasn't that powerful. He could make a flash or a puff of smoke, or create fire if he concentrated hard enough, but mostly he relied on his gadgets and his fighting skills. He was a master of Krav Maga, knew how to take down villains in just a few, well-aimed moves. He was the best thing to ever happen to this godforsaken, wretched city. They didn't deserve him."

"Anyway, I was a street kid, a nobody," Hypno-Boy continued. "I figured out I had this power in my eyes, to hypnotize people, so I used it to rob the rich douche bags in the Business District. Eventually, Mr Magician found out about me. He took me in, became my mentor, turned me around. Turned me into a hero. We had a few good years..." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "We once stopped this villain who wore a banana costume. Called himself the Slippery Saboteur. Good times, good times."

"But like anything, it had to come to an end," Hypno-Boy went on. "We were stopping a bank robbery. I was supposed to be covering Mr Magician's back, but I was hit in the head with a crowbar. I was disoriented. I saw one of the robbers point a gun at Mr Magician's head, I screamed, but he didn't hear me. They killed him. He didn't deserve such a shitty death. No one does. So I hypnotized him and all his goons to jump off the roof of the building. And now here I am. Back on the streets, hypnotizing people to get whatever I need. That hobo outside? This was his apartment. I made him give it to me. He was a lawyer or something. And I...I don't feel anything. I'm hollow."

Stinger walked back into the living room and plopped down on the couch. "Gertrude at all the food," he grumbled moodily. "Can you order some pizza?"

Hypno-Boy scowled at Stinger and took out his phone. He texted the local pizza place and sent them a pizza emoji. "There," Hypno-Boy snapped.

"That's all it takes?" Stinger said, his antennae twitching in surprise. "You earth teenagers are so good with this modern technology. I just barely figured out how to email." He shook his head in wonderment and started to inspect his gun, rubbing it and whispering to it like it was a living thing.