2/3rds of a novel

Psycho Babble

Chapter 1

“They just fly right passed his home and don't do anything about him!”

At the core of Junior's philosophy was a belief that superheroes refuse to prevent supervillany because they rely on their adversaries to define their own morality. Because the supervillain is bad and we fight them, we are good. Allowing the supervillain to return again and again to do bad again and again, is the only way the superheroes could reinforce their own self-worth, which in turn justified the things they enjoyed to do; dress up in costumes, show off their powers, and have destructive battles.

Junior was dressed up in a costume today, as were his teammates, Fatso and Artemis. Junior wore a billowing cape with a garish arrows layered in many colors, all pointing up to his head. Beneath that eye-catching cape was solid black clothing, to better draw the eye to the cape. The arrows all drew the eye up to Junior's helmet, a wrap around LCD screen shaped like a face. Junior lacked any Earth-shattering, world breaking super-powers, but he did have a clever mind. The LCD screen was linked to a computer in his glove so he could produce any of a hundred or so pre-programmed images across his face to subliminally influence the watcher. Not bad for a fourteen-year-old kid.

Fatso on the other hand, could barely turn on an LCD television. While the name would warn people that meet him, the reality of seeing a man his size was difficult to prepare for. While his weight slid back and forth between 450 and 500 pounds, he wore the same unflattering black leather singlet. When he gained weight, the edges of the fabric simply dug into his rolls of flesh more deeply, not that he cared. Fatso couldn't feel any physical pain.

“Well, if they won't do anything about him, we will! Right, team?” said Junior, fist pumping for emphasis.

Artemis vomited a pint of rye whiskey. She had been on a bender since the second century BC.

“Oh, come on, Junior. No one wants to be out here, but you,” she burbled.

In another situation, Artemis would have been very attractive, as goddesses are wont to be when not trying to self-destruct the indestructible. Tight black leather pants gripped her godly curves, but a soiled and stained tunic produced a smell of vomit that would instantly dissolve any notion of admiration or adoration. A nominal attempt to cover this relic of her time on Mount Olympus was made in the form of a black leather jacket, upon which her blonde curls bounced, when they weren't matted to her neck with bodily fluids.

“So,” interjected Fatso, eager to return to the subject of heroics, “Who is this guy we're here to murder?”

“No! Not murder,” cried Junior, turning and grabbing Fatso by the singlet as an image of scales blipped on his face, “Bring JUSTICE to! He's been let off the hook by those underwear perverts over and over again. He's the murderer! Not us!”

Tossing the bottle in her hand to the floor with a crash and a tinkle of glass, Artemis staggered towards the towering building.

“Enough of this crap,” she calmly spat as she pulled back her fist and drove it into the side of the building, shaking the walls. The unscheduled demolition of the apartment building raised the screams of its inhabitants as chunks of brick and concrete came crashing to the ground as Fatso and Junior tried desperately to dodge the fallout of Artemis' impetuousness. Finally, the billow of dust ballooned up around them, obscuring the tenants' views of the costumed destroyers of their homes.

“Which apartment is he in?” yelled Artemis over the cries and yelling of the building's exposed tenants.

Inside his apartment, Johann Locksmeare ran to his secret closet. No stranger to super-battles, Johann knew what it meant when a building a supervillian is living in is smashed open. Getting out of his sweatpants and t-shirt, he started to dress himself in the cape and cowl of his alter ego, the Bronze Bull.

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” the Bronze Bull muttered to himself as he locked his feet into his super-powered cloven hoof boots. He ran to the door and opened it, revealing Junior, arms crossed and helmet displaying a scowling face. Artemis held the door frame for balance and Fatso sweated and panted.

(This is it, Junior,) he thought to himself, (Your first superhero fight. Your first quip with a supervillain. Say something terrifying. Something frightening. Something that will strike fear into his cowardly criminal heart.)

“Hi.”

(That wasn't it.)

Bronze Bull raised his left leg and braced himself for the thrust produced by activating his hoof. The hoof extended forward quickly, forcefully, and struck Junior in the sternum, sending him flying backwards through the door of Bronze Bull's neighbor.

“Hey! What was that for?” asked Fatso.

The Bronze Bull switched feet and powered his right hoof into Fatso's chest, where it stuck and was enveloped by his breasts. Still bewildered, Fatso looked down at the stuck foot as Bronze Bull struggled to retrieve it.

Artemis' eyes shot wide open and she started laughing hysterically!

As Bronze Bull hopped on his left foot, Fatso began to see the humor in it and chuckled a bit, pointing at the right hoof stuck in his fat rolls.

Sick of being laughed at, Bronze Bull decided the end the fight quickly. He drew a gun from a hip holster on each side and fired a round into the foreheads of Artemis and Fatso.

They stopped laughing.

The bullet that had bounced off from Artemis' head tinkled to the floor and the bullet that got stuck in Fatso's forehead flesh remained to be dug out later.

Artemis swung her right arm down, right through the extended and stuck femur of the Bronze Bull, leaving him with a stump gushing blood, and leaving Fatso with a dismembered leg in his rolls. This didn't stop Fatso from pulling Bronze Bull close and biting a large chunk out of his neck. With his femoral artery and jugular vein severed as they were, Artemis and Fatso could walk away and the Bronze Bull would have died quickly. But they were mad. Bronze Bull learned quickly that you shouldn't upset the super-strong. He knew it for the rest of his life, both seconds of it.

As Junior pulled himself to his feet and held himself on the door frame, he could see blood from across the hall.

“Oh no...” he said as he stumbled forward, making him away of a cracked rib under his tactical gear.

As he entered Bronze Bull's apartment, it became clear for the first time who Bronze Bull was. He was a Yankees fan. He liked furniture from IKEA. His DVDs were mostly horror movies. His computer was out of date. He liked cereals and kept a few varieties in stock. This was a person, a human being. Junior had arranged the death of a person. Junior looked passed the blood on the Yankees poster, stretching down to the floor and across the room to the refrigerator with five cereal boxes on it. He looked passed Fatso and Artemis, Fatso with his face covered in blood as he ate some of their opponent and Artemis as she pounded her fists into the remains of Bronze Bull's skull until it was only knuckle hitting IKEA cow skin rug. Junior just stared out of the absent wall, exposing them to the world and looked out on the city.

“Oh my god...” he mumbled.

“Heh,” laughed Fatso, “We gave him good justice all right!”

Artemis raised a hand and Fatso slapped it, spraying a mist of blood from her knuckles.

“I haven't seen battle like that since Thermopylae,” Artemis exclaimed, “We need to celebrate in the old ways, my friends! Wine and orgies for my brothers in combat!”

Fatso looked expectantly to Junior for approval. Junior walked up to him and pulled on his left breast, letting the Bronze Bull's leg fall to the ground, the only recognizable piece that remained. This was the only way anyone would know that the Bronze Bull, a famous supervillain, had died. Junior shook his head at Fatso, then turned to the goddess covered in blood.

“Just get us out of here, Artemis,” Junior said in a resigned tone. “The underwear perverts will be here any second.”

Artemis shrugged and stood at the vacant wall and held out her hands. Fatso held her left hand and Junior held her right and Artemis jumped into the air, pulling them along. Instead of falling to the ground, she continued across the sky line, the murder scene shrinking in the distance as Junior looked back at it.

On a leather couch in an office that smelled of mahogany, the world's most powerful man, who had diverted meteors, traveled in time, saved the world, and repelled alien invasion, pulled himself up and looked his therapist in the eyes.

“I just want my dick to get hard.”

“I'm not prescribing you drugs, Henry,” replied Dr. Mento. “They probably wouldn't even work on you. For the most part, you're made of stone and-”

“So I should be as hard as a rock!”

“We've talked about this. There's no 'should be.' This issue is a psychological one that you're facing. You are the most powerful man in the world. You are made of rock. You are called the Obelisk. You've put so much importance on phallic performance that you can't possibly live up to-”

“I can do anything, Doc!” interrupted the Obelisk for the fifth time this session.

“What you can do is make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“What's THAT supposed to mean?” Obelisk shouted as he stood up. He clenched his fists and stared down his therapist, taking in the view of an older man, completely his inferior, who he should be able to out-perform in every way.

“Sit down, Henry,” Dr. Mento requested, moving a finger to the top of his head, a glass case enclosing his oversized brain.

Obelisk started to pace angrily, “NO! I'm paying you good money and you-”

((Sit down, Henry)), Dr. Mento ordered inside the Obelisk's mind. The Obelisk sat down again.

Mento apologized, “I'm sorry to do that Henry, but last time you got upset, you broke my bookcase, remember?”

“Aw, I'm sorry, Doc,” said the Obelisk, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

Mento sighed. When he had retired from active duty on the League to practice psychology, he had assumed he wouldn't need his mind control powers, but when your patients can throw Italy into the sun, you have to have a way to control them.

“I'll tell you what,” said Mento, pulling out a pad of paper. “I'll give you a script for Viagra, BUT,” he raised a finger to stifle Obelisk's joy, “I am not guaranteeing that it's going to work. I want you to try it alone first and see what happens before you put yourself in a high-pressure situation where you feel the need to perform. And if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. They don't exactly test this stuff on superhuman rock sentinels, understand?”

“Yes, doctor!” said Obelisk, excitedly, rising to get the script. “Thank you!”

“No problem. I'll see you on Wednesday, same time.” Mento looked up at the ceiling. “Gigabyte Ghost, activate.”

A light blue line around the top of the wall lit dimly as the electronic rendition of a British man's voice responded.

“Online, sir.”

“GG, please show Mr. Landis to the door and schedule him a new appointment on Wednesday at the same time.”

“Very good, sir,” came the response from the blue light that changed in luminance briefly with each word.

The door to the hall way opened automatically.

“This way, Mr. Landis.”

Obelisk looked at the light, then back at Doctor Mento, “Why don't you get a regular butler like other guys? You just know he's going to turn evil or get controlled or something like that eventually.”

Mento shrugged his shoulders, “I know it, but what choice do I have. Everyone here reveals their secret identities. I talk to everyone about their weaknesses, their significant others, their problems, hero and villain alike. If I had a human butler, he'd be kidnapped every other day and tortured for information. This way, I keep everyone's information in a computer, back it up to disk and store the disk in an alternate dimension. Yeah, he'll get taken over some day, but they can only get to that day's information. And I can always deactivate Gigabyte Ghost. I can't just kill or mind wipe a servant every time I need them gone. “

“Still creeps me out,” replied Obelisk, exiting the office to the hallway. As he reached the front door, a small business card and a prescription ejected into a bin for him. The business card was already labeled with the time for his next appointment. Obelisk took them both and looked up at the blue line that ran across the top of every wall in Mento's house. “That's trouble just waiting to happen.”

Doctor Mento looked over his notes a final time, then started to shred them.

“GG, let's amend Obelisk's file. Started him on Sildenafil one hundred milligrams, as needed. No therapeutic progress. Possible technophobia. Close file.”

Mento picked up the trash can filled with shredded notes and walked to the fireplace, which GG ignited. He emptied the trash can into the fire, using the poker to ferry in any loose strains, poking the mass until it was ash.

“That's fine, you can dispose of the ash.”

The fire extinguished with a final sound of whompf and the sound of a vacuum replaced it as the ashes were sucked into the wall for liquifying later.

“Your son is home, Michael,” the ghost said.

“Thank you, GG. I wasn't aware he had left. I thought he had been studying,” Michael Mento replied.

“He left this morning. You were in a session with Hard Rock.”

“That reminds me, GG. Don't schedule me multiple earth elementals in the same day without vacuuming first. They might be able to identify each other by the pebbles they leave behind.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael Mento exited the office and entered the hallway, immediately turning to walk up the staircase to the second floor. He walked up to his son's room and knocked.

“Hey, Mike, can I come in?”

“Sure, Dad,” came the answer back.

Mento opened the door to his son's room, revealing the boy at his desk, curled over a circuit board, his long red curls swaying over it as he moved with his soldering iron.

“What's up?” said the father.

“Not much,” answered the son.

“Where did you get off to today?” pried the father.

Mike stopped soldering and sat up, feigning betrayal, “That technological terror!” Mike stood up and shook his fist at the blue line at the top of his wall, “Vengeance shall be mine!”

“We shall see, young Mento!” replied the voice, playing along with the boy.

Michael smiled and noticed his son's frame has bulked up since he last noticed. (He's growing up so fast), thought Michael.

“Been hitting the weights, Junior?” asked Michael.

Mike pulled on his sleeve to hide his training as best he could, “Nah, must just be a growth spurt. I'll have to enjoy this metabolism while I can.” He turned back to the line, “How about donuts for dinner, GG?”

“I think not, sir.”

Mike sat back down, making an effort to slouch and look physically inconspicuous, “Well, it was worth a shot.”

Dr. Mento walked closer and inspected his son's project, “What are you making here?”

“This,” Mike indicated the board, “is going to be a remote control for turning off any car alarm on the block. Just for when the owner ignores the siren and the thief or whatever bumped it is long gone.”

“I never could understand electronics like you and your mother.”

There was a moment of solemn silence between them.

“Yeah... I miss Mom,” Mike said finally.

“I know,” said Doctor Mento, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, “So do I.”

Mike began to work on his circuit board again and his father left. After a final connection was completed, Mike pressed a button and a little red light lit up.

“GG, are you online?” asked Mike.

“GG, I want a ham sandwich. Bring me a ham sandwich.”

“GG, you're like Big Brother and the butler stereotype mashed into one insufferable line.”

No response.

Mike pressed the button again and the light turned on again.

“GG?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Is my father free in the next hour?”

“No, sir, he has another session. Would you like me to tell him anything?”

“No, GG. That's fine. Thank you.”

Mike pressed the button and turned on his signal jammer, then moved to his nightstand and pulled it to one side.

Doctor Mento's office was state of the art for privacy. A white noise filter rendered parabolic microphones useless. The ghost scanned the room before and after each session for hidden bugs. The ghost had a programmed blind spot that Doctor Mento could activate to shield all conversation from its system. Master Mage had even put preventative hexes on the room, preventing magical scrying on the location.

Michael Mento, Jr, sat at the air vent and listened. Junior had found that super-powered people think about how they would attack a problem and then defend against those attacks. Do something unexpected, something low-tech, something normal, something uninspired, and they don't have a defense for it.

Mary Wonder had her music turned all the way up, trying to drown out the sound of her parents arguing downstairs. It was her way of dealing with their fighting and her way of letting them know she could hear them. She laid completely naked on her bed, thumbing through a magazine, not reading the articles or even looking at the pictures. Just killing time.

She didn't know what had started the argument this time. Something about her baby brother's crying or something. Her Dad thought her Mom wasn't pulling her weight or the other way around. They fought a lot and they fought about a lot of different things. Keeping track was an impossible chore, so she chose to pretend it didn't exist.

There was a knock at the door. She pretended the music was too loud to hear it. A second series of knocks which she also ignored. Finally, her mother pounded on the door. She knew it was her mother because her father's pounding would have put a hole in her door again. She pressed the remote to pause her music and asked in a sing-song voice, "Who i-is it?"

"It's Mo-om," her mother replied in a mimicking sing-song voice. If arguing with her father ever upset her, she was very talented at not letting it show and a saint for not letting it interfere with her love for her children.

"Come i-in," Mary replied, continuing the song.

Mary's mother came in, nearly naked save for some leather straps, a high white collar, and a domino mask. She looked around at the mess Mary had made. Clothing was scattered everywhere.

"What's all this?" said her Mom, showing a bit of tiredness.

"What's what?"

"I just did laundry and I asked if you had any dirty clothes."

Mary looked around at the clothes, "These aren't dirty. Not all the way dirty anyway."

Her mother bent down, squeaking the leather as it rubbed against itself, picking up the clothes with her right hand and bundling them under her left arm, "You're like a BOY sometimes, Mary."

Mary rolled over in her bed and threw her arms up in the air, sending her naked breasts a-jiggle, "What do you mean? I'm a pretty pretty princess. Don't all princesses get throwing stars and compound bow training?"

"Don't start that again. I asked you if you wanted to play soccer and you said no."

"I said yes, the coach said no, after I broke Mia Mortimer's jaw for calling me a dyke."

"That's as good as you saying no. You made a decision to put that poor girl in that jaw-wired-shut-headgear thing. That was your decision to quit soccer." Her mother dropped the pile of clothes in the hamper. The room looked a little bit better, but not much.

"What did you guys do today?" asked Mary, nodding at her Mom's costume.

Her mother frowned, "Nothing fun. There was a funeral for one of the club members. Did you ever get to meet Bronze Bull?"

"Was he the guy with the boots?"

"Yeah, his real name was Mr. Locksmeare. We baby-sat his daughter when he and his wife were kidnapped and put on War World, remember?"

Mary shook her head.

"I don't know what happened there," continued her mother, "but he and his wife never got along afterward. They divorced and only Bronze Bull stayed active. His family didn't even come to the ceremony. I think they're going to do a civilian one though."

There was a moment of silence.

"Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?" asked Mary, taking a risk.

"What do you mean?" replied her mother, with a false smile.

"I just want... well, I just don't want to be surprised if something happens. If you two split up, I mean."

Her leather squeaked again as Mrs. Wonder shifted her weight. She smiled at Mary and kissed her on the forehead and started to walk out the door, then stopped and turned back, "The truth is, I don't know. We don't know. You're practically an adult and you'll be out in the field soon and I want you to trust me, so I'm not going to lie or sugarcoat anything for you. We have problems. I'm hoping we work them out, but I really can't guarantee anything. And that's the best I can tell you right now. Understand?"

Mary nodded.

"Ok, honey, we're having dinner down at the club tonight, so I want you to get your costume on."

"Ok, Mom... I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetie."

Mrs. Wonder closed the door and Mary rolled out of bed. She had always suspected things were bad between her parents, but she never knew how bad. She wondered if she would regret asking, but that was part of being an adult.

She opened her closet and pulled out her outfit. She put her legs into the green leather bondage corset and pulled the dyed cowhide up her ass.

The pounding in Artemis' head reminded her of the noise in big cities when the Industrial Revolution had first really caught on. She didn't even open her eyes. She didn't care where she was. (What's the point?), she thought, a question that had been plaguing her for centuries.

She had been worshiped as a goddess at one point. She had followers, lovers, devotees, servants, slaves, worshipers. If one sits and thinks about it, there are quite a lot of people involved in pleasing a god.

"But then... they LEFT!" she yelled, wallowing half in thought and half aloud.

Artemis had been in relationships before that had ended badly, that had left her feeling like garbage, unwanted and discarded. Being in a relationship with thousands and thousands of people though, and then having them just stop loving her, was too much for her to take. As the other gods died off, she felt even more alone.

After the Romans had cleared her temples from the map, she waited for a resurgence of gods. Finding others with abilities beyond mortals was a very rare occurrence, and those whom she found were not interested in putting themselves on pedestals like her fellow gods. The world seems uninterested in superhuman might and flight and powers that defied nature. The one time she convinced others to exhibit their powers, the mortals rejected her and her kind again. In Salem, they were burned or crushed or drowned. Artemis had been thrown in the river, stuck there for years, tied to a boulder. With nothing but her rejection to focus on, she decided that she didn't want to live anymore.

"Can't kill the immortal though, can you?" Artemis screamed at no one in particular. She looked around and tried to get her bearings. She was in an alleyway. Her pants were around her ankles and her toga was pulled up to her armpits. She sat up slowly, holding her head and pulled down her toga. She rose gradually to her feet with the help of a brick wall, then bent down and pulled up her leather pants little by little, taking great care not to fall over. After buttoning them, she looked around and was upset to find herself without liquor, the one thing that kept her darkness and self-loathing at bay.

Looking around, she saw a door in the wall she was leaning on. As she stumbled closer to it, holding herself up on the wall, the door opened and a large man with a bandage over his right eyebrow exited, carrying broken pieces of wood.

Artemis knew what had happened without needing memory. Obviously, this place was a bar and she had broken something or someone. She turned and lept into the air, hitting her left shoulder on a fire escape as she flew away, alerting the man below.

"Hey! Get back here! You have to pay for this stuff!" he yelled as the woman disappeared behind the rooftops.

The air was crisp and cool on Artemis' face and the sun was bright and warm. For a moment, she felt happy. Feeling happy, however, made her feel undeserving of being happy. If nobody loved her, she was worthless. And if she was worthless, she didn't deserve to be happy. She closed her eyes and curled up, pulling her knees to her chest. As she stopped flying, her body fell from the sky, breaking a tree limb as she passed and creating a goddess-sized divot in a dog park. She laid there and nursed her self-pity, wrapping it around her like a comforting blanket. If she cared about how pitiful she was, maybe someone else could care, too.

"OH MY GOD!" yelled a woman with a shih tzu.

Her young daughter's mouth dropped open, "AN ANGEL!"

Artemis opened her eyes and looked through her tears to see who had called her something nice. She sniffled and wiped her nose and slowly got up.

"I'LL CALL 911! JUST STAY STILL!" the mother yelled at her.

Artemis staggered towards the child, more from the remaining alcohol in her system than the crash, which did nothing to harm her. She took a knee in front of the girl.

"Yes... I'm an angel," said Artemis with a small smile and glazed eyes, "Do you think I'm a pretty angel?"

Artemis was covered in bodily fluids and dirt, but little children see what they would like to see.

"Yes, ma'am. You're the most beautiful angel I've ever seen."

Artemis put a hand on her shoulder and looked down, saying through tears, "Thank you."

The mother grabbed her daughter by the wrist and started to walk away quickly, "Come on, sweetie! Stop bothering the nice sky lady!"

"No, it's ok! She's not bothering me!" Artemis said, earnestly. Even drunk and stumbling, her super-speed allowed her to outpace the mother and stand in front of her with a hand up, "Please stop! She was just telling me how pretty I am!"

The woman pushed her daughter behind her, "Look, obviously you're one of those super-people. If you're one of the good ones, thank you for all you do. If you're one of the bad ones, then please don't kill us."

Artemis took a step forward and smiled, reaching out to comfort the woman.

"GO!" yelled the woman, pushing the child away, "RUN HOME! RIGHT NOW!"

And the child left.

"I'm not letting you get my daughter," said the woman, reaching in her purse, producing a tazer. She stuck it into Artemis' neck and pulled the trigger, sending 500,000 volts into her jugular vein. The goddess cried as she felt rejection again, a seemingly recurring and dominant theme in her millenia of life. She turned and walked away, ignoring the woman. As she walked, she thought of how nice the little girl was and how wonderful she had made her feel.

The sidewalk led away from the dog park and into a jogging trail. It split, but the decision was never up for consideration for Artemis. There was a man, sleeping or passed out, on a bench down the left path. In her experience, that type of person sometimes has something in a brown paper bag that can dull her self-hate and her overwhelming sense of loss.

Chapter 2

Junior sat in the driver's seat of his Lincoln Continental, dressed as a chauffeur with Fatso in the back, dressed as Fatso. Junior had reasoned that he had only brought along Fatso in case something went wrong and he needed muscle. If that instance arose, there would be little point to disguising Fatso.

"I'm out of the cookies, Junior."

Junior continued to watch the bar down the street with focus and intensity.

"Junior? I'm out of cookies."

"There's more in the bag by your feet," Junior said, keeping his eyes on the bar.

Fatso looked down and was disheartened to find his feet hidden by his stomach. He pulled the massed to one side and craned his head to the other to discover a plastic grocery bag. Pulling it up, he found two packages of Oreos.

"Thanks, Junior," he said as he opened one, the crackling plastic breaking Junior's concentration.

Junior re-focused at the bar as a car pulled into the lot behind it. A few moments later, four people in costumes walked alongside the bar and entered through the side door. Junior consulted his notes and added Bug Master, the Winged Viper, Shadling, and the Occult Eagle to his list. This brought the list of supervillains inside the bar to twenty-six. He wondered if he could find enough explosives to kill them all before they left.

He was trying to estimate the travel time from his lair back to the bar during rush hour when he caught a glimpse of a child in the backseat of a car entering the lot.

“Fatso, get ready! We might have to save someone.”

Fatso quickly finished the cookie he was eating, then grabbed two more for, you know, energy.

As the occupants of the car walked into sight, Junior forgot all interest in remaining inconspicuous and brought his binoculars to his eyes. Two of the villains, a man and a woman, were what you expect. The man was dressed in power armor and the woman was dressed like a slut, but the girl! The girl was beautiful.

A single auburn bang danced on her forehead as she walked. Junior had thought her a child from her face, but she was about his age with alabaster white skin that looked soft, so soft. She wore a green one piece, black gartered stockings and pointy, knee high boots. On her wrists were giant, sparkling bracelets. When she disappeared into the bar, Junior found himself continuing to look at the door, hoping she would reemerge. Finally, Fatso snapped him out of his fixation.

“Do we need to save someone?” he asked, raising his head and trying to locate the hostage through the window.

“I... I don't know, Fatso,” replied Junior. “We'll wait and see. You can go back to eating.”

The rustling of plastic behind him let Junior know that his obese team mate had done just that. Junior took a look at his lists and a set of notes he had made on supervillains. He knew she wasn't in there, but he looked anyway, hoping he was wrong and he had a record of who she was.

No luck.

The older two were Mass Deposit and Scream Queen, though. They were married. Maybe the girl was their daughter. (Well), he thought, (That does it. That puts her square with the enemy.)

(Still), he continued to think, (Maybe she's not too entrenched into the system yet. Maybe she doesn't have to be the enemy. I could save her. Be her knight in shining armor. She'd like that. I bet she'd be really grateful.)

Junior shifted his legs and his crotch and shook out those thoughts.

“Where's Artemis?” asked Fatso.

(Yeah, there's another one. Artemis has a really nice...)

“Sorry, what did you say, Fatso?” asked Junior, trying to derail his train of thought. For all his intelligence and want to save the world, he was still a fourteen-year-old boy.

“Where's Artemis at? Cause she likes bars.”

“That's exactly why I didn't invite her, Fatso,” explained Junior. “She wouldn't be able to stay away from the bar while we surveyed it. Artemis has inner feelings she wants to avoid and her compulsion to reduce the tension caused by this jointly exhaustive dichotomy results in the repetitive self-destructive behavior you've witnessed in her.”

Junior looked back in the rear-view mirror. Poor Fatso. He had talked over his head again. Junior tried again.

“She's not here because I like you so much Fatso. I wanted to work with you because you're so great!” Junior said excitedly.

Fatso's grin revealed the Oreo bits stuck in his teeth. Junior knew that Fatso's incredibly low self-esteem was fueled by his weight and his father's insistence that he was worthless. Of course, Fatso's consumption of simple sugars raised his mood and alleviated his depression momentarily, but the increased weight gain fueled it further. As long as he stayed depressed, Junior could make him do anything by telling him he was good.

“So, Fatso,” said Junior as he turned around to look Fatso in the eye and really engage him in the event, “What do you think is going on? We have a lot of supervillains all getting together in one bar. I found this bar from following one of them a while ago. They meet here about once or twice a week.”

“Well,” said Fatso, leaning in, “The way I see it is, they are all supervillains. And this is their bar. So that makes this a supervillain bar.”

Junior almost felt sorry for the fat slob.

“Very smart, Fatso! Good thinking. I knew there was a reason I wanted you on this mission.”

(Because you're super-strong, invulnerable, and easily manipulated), Junior thought to himself.

“Now,” Junior continued, “I'm going to try to get closer and see what's going on inside. Take this,” he handed him a small box with a light on it, “and if the light comes on, attack the bar. You have to save me if the light comes on.”

Fatso looked Junior in the eyes, “You can count on me.”

Junior took off the chauffeur's cap and exited the car, looking both way across the street and hustling across. He kept close to the buildings and leaned against one casually. With a hand in his jacket pocket, he operated a small pen-like device that detected wireless transmission traffic. It vibrated heavily as he angled it towards the door, indicating a possible surveillance system.

Turning and walking away from the bar, to the confusion of Fatso watching from the car, Junior turned into the next alleyway and began to climb the fire escape of the adjacent building. Climbing above a deli and the apartment on the second level, he emerged cautiously on the rooftop and moved towards the alleyway between the bar and deli.

Eschewing secrecy, he pointed the traffic detector at the roof of the bar. It vibrated a little. Not enough to assume there was a security system on the roof and easily explained by the strong signal at the door.

(Now what?), he thought to himself. It was twenty-four or twenty-five feet across the alleyway with a two story drop if he failed.

Junior looked around the rooftop. There was some scaffolding up here. It was old, but if he was very careful, he could rearrange the bolts and build a makeshift bridge. He was looking around for anchor points when the door below him opened and a sound like chipmunks came out from below.

Out filed the supervillains, shaking hands and hugging each other as they walked to their cars. Lacking the muscular back-up of a team mate, he had never stayed for the end of a meeting, but he couldn't imagine how it could have taken so little time.

(That explains the chipmunk noise), he thought, (The bar is temporally moving faster than regular time. Everything happens faster to them inside there. A few minutes out here could be a few hours in there.)

There she was again. The girl in green. Junior leaned over the edge of the roof to get a better look at her.

(Wow), he thought, (I can really see down her cleavage with this vantage.)

He followed along the rooftop, watching her and what he presumed to be her parents as they said goodbye to other criminals in costume and entered into their sedan. Junior produced his camera and took some pictures of the girl as she got into the car, then the license plate, and finally reconnaissance of the rest of the villains and lot. He waited and watched as the cars filed out into the streets, heading off towards their homes or lairs or dungeons, dimensions, or planets.

Mary looked out the window of the car as her parents drove towards their home. There was an uneasy silence in the car that her mother, Scream Queen, felt obliged to break.

“That was a nice dinner, wasn't it?” she asked to no one in particular.

Mass Deposit grunted his agreement and Mary turned further away toward the window.

“I think the name Starlet was a pretty good suggestion from Magpie. What do you think, Mary?”

“Yeah,” Mary replied, absently. “I think I'll use it.”

There was another awkward silence. This time Mary broke it, still looking out the window.

“Do we have to go back to the club anymore?”

“Well, what do you mean?” asked Scream Queen, surprised.

This was enough to bring her father into the conversation, “The Sinister Society has been good to us, Mary. They deserve our support. Don't forget your mother would still be in prison if it wasn't for them.”

“I know,” said Mary. “Forget I said anything.”

The rest of the car ride was finished in silence. They reached their house and drove into the garage, closing the door behind them. A simple step to maintaining a secret identity in suburbia.

Mass Deposit started removing his power armor as soon as he walked in the door, dropping it as he went. As always, Scream Queen trailed behind him, picking up each piece as she came to it, her leather straps squeaking as they moved. Starlet, as she had decided to be known, remained in the kitchen and in costume as her parents retired to their room.

She was standing with her hands on the counter, staring off. She rolled the events and conversations of the night over and over in her head, getting madder and madder.

“Fuck it,” she whispered, exiting the kitchen and then exiting the house. She crossed her bracelet in front of her face and sang a few beautiful notes, the bracelets glowing brighter as she sang. When they were charged, she put them at her sides and fired downwards, sending her up in the air and above her house.

“HOLY HELL THAT IS COLD!” screamed Starlet. She had flown plenty of times, but never in the skimpy costume which now seemed very ill-advised. She bit her lower lip and shivered and wondered if she could still be a sensuous vixen if she was covered in goose pimples. Still, there was no going back. She had shown off the costume to everyone. It was part of her identity now. Changing a costume was a luxury reserved for veterans, people who were entering new decades of fashion. Changing a costume before she even started her reign of terror would lose her the tiny bit of respect she had inherited from her parents' success.

She started her descent towards the junkyard, eager to work off some anger. She wasn't willing to admit to herself what had happened as the Sinister Society meeting, but she was willing to admit she was angry about it.

Landing with a skid and a small cloud of dust, she heard a barking dog as it came towards her. She pointed her wrist at the rottweiler and with a sound of “bazoop,” fired a beam of light that burned its hair down to the skin and sent the dog running with a howl of pain.

Looking around at the heaps of metal and wreckage, Starlet held her crystal bracelets in front of her and sang a few notes, then turned the crystals' fury and light towards a rusted car, breaking the windows dramatically and boring a cylinder of luminance through the body. She lowered her hands and was pleased by the perfect circle melted through the car and the blistering damage done to the next car in line.

“That felt good,” she said, almost smiling. “But not great.”

She brought up her bracelets and screamed into them. It wasn't as intense as her mother's, but it was well into the super-human range. The bracelets vibrated as the yell continued, echoing in the towers of scrap metal. Still screaming with so much anger, she cut a swath of light through her surroundings, a continuous beam of brilliance that rent all that it crossed in twain.

As supporting structures were cut to pieces, their burden spilled downwards, crashing as they fell. Finally breathing, Starlet lower her arms and opened her eyes, surveying the power she wielded and the destruction she could cause. Her eyes stopped when they saw an older man in ratty clothing, holding the leash of a scared, hairless rottweiler.

Starlet became aware of that she had been crying as she ran towards the man and the cold air chilled the tears. She grabbed the man by the collar and pointed a bracelet at his head. The man released the leash in fear and the dog ran away quickly.

Lacking the words to express herself, Starlet just stood there, trying to decide whether or not to kill him. The man, for his part, was equally silent, save for a strained whimper and a single whispered, “Please.”

Starlet turned her head away and fired a blast. His weight suddenly unsupported, the headless body fell to its knees for a moment at her feet, then crumpled to the floor.

After a moment of looking him, she incinerated the body with a continuous blast of light. After recharging her bracelets, she took flight with no doubt in her mind.

(I deserved what I got.)

“But I don't want to be evil!” exclaimed Destructor, Lord of Decay.

“Then don't be, Larry,” returned Dr. Mento.

“Everything I touch withers and dies,” he said from within his containment suit, where his skeleton glowed and pulsed, “it's not like I can use these powers for the forces of good!”

“Evil is a choice that you've made. You now have to choose to not be evil if that's what you want. You're calling yourself Destructor, Lord of Decay! That's an evil name. Larry Fillmore isn't an evil name. The day you choose not to be evil is the day you introduce yourself as Larry, not Destructor.”

“But what about my secret identity?”

Mento raised an eyebrow, “Larry, you're a glowing skeleton in a plastic onesie. A pair of glasses is not going to hide that.”

Destructor lowered his plastic encased head down into his plastic encased hands, “I know... I know... It's just that I want to be normal. I want that other identity. Other guys can just take off a cape or put away the power armor. I'm always a glowing skeleton. I can't turn it off. Every single thing I touch dies. Anything organic rots away instantly. If I didn't rot away my own stomach, I would've starved to death from rotting my own food.”

Destructor looked up, “That's another thing. The uncertainty. I don't know how I'm alive. Sometimes I don't know if I AM alive! I'm a glowing skeleton, but I move around. I talk, but I don't have a voice box. How the hell do you explain that? I can't exactly go to Doctor Travesty or the Mindflayer and ask them to do a full panel work-up on me. They're trying to turn the world's population into squirrels or something while I have real problems and no one to turn to. Am I dead? Alive? Am I even a man?”

Mento reached out and held his gloved hand, “You are whatever you choose to be, Larry.”

“I don't agree,” he replied sadly, pulling his hand back. “I am what I am. I'm Destructor, Lord of Decay. I can kill and destroy. That's it. That's all. I lack the ability, looks, and skin to do anything else.”

“What about trash?”

“What?” questioned Larry, obviously hurt by the comparison.

“No, no, I'm talking about garbage.”

“What the hell, man?”

“I'm not say that you are garbage, Larry! I'm saying you are the solution to garbage. You can probably decay an entire landfill in an afternoon. You could save the planet!”

Larry hesitated, “Ok... you make it sound pretty good, but... garbage? Who wants to work in a landfill all day? I'll come home smelling like rotting diapers.”

“No, you won't,” smiled Mento as he leaned back in his chair. “You can't hold a smell. You change your containment suit before you go back into your lair and that stink will never be a problem.”

“But this makes me, like, a garbage man.”

“This would make you an environmental superhero, Larry! You could call yourself Captain Compost or the Eco-Warrior. Throw in a battle with the occasional planet destroying madman and some monologues about saving the planet for future generations and we can stick a cape on you, it's done!”

“I don't know. Even if you own the whole waste disposal company and sit in an office all day, you're still a garbage man. I'd be in the trash itself. And be a superhero? I think everyone is going to call me 'Garbage Man.' I don't think there's a way around that.”

Mento leaned forward and clasped his hands together, “I want you to really think about this idea, Larry. Our time is up, but I want to keep talking about this. Do you realize this is the longest you've indulged an idea about super-heroism?”

Destructor, Lord of Decay, would have blushed if he had skin or blood.

Mento continued, “This is real progress. I want you to stick with this, so I'm giving you homework. I want you to spend one afternoon between this and our next appointment on Tuesday down at the dump. Just see what it's like. See how much garbage you can decay in an hour. Obviously, do it off hours because you're still wanted for murder and kidnapping the mayor back in June. But really get into it. Forget that you are Destructor. Get into the idea that you are the Eco-Warrior, Champion of Earth!”

“I'll try, doc,” said Destructor, hesitant. “I can't guarantee I'll like it.”

They rose and shook hands.

“I'm really proud of you, Larry. You made some big steps today. Let's keep up the good work.”

Mento looked up at the ceiling. “Gigabyte Ghost, activate.”

A light blue line around the top of the wall lit dimly as the electronic rendition of a British man's voice responded.

“Online, sir.”

“GG, please show Destructor to the door and print him a reminder card for his usual appointment.”

“Very good, sir,” came the response from the blue light that changed in luminance briefly with each word.

The door to the hall way opened automatically.

“Destructor, I'm very proud of you for the progress we've made today. You keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, doc.”

The glowing skeleton of ultimate destruction left the psychiatrist's office and the door closed behind him, leaving Michael Mento to begin his process of disposing of his notes through shredding, incineration, and the more non-traditional methods at his disposal, updating his computer as he did so.

“GG, open Destructor's file and we're going to add some notes to the section labeled 'Heroic Aspirations.'”

“Ready, Michael.”

“Destructor is going to try using his powers of decay at the landfill to dispose of some trash. If he can be convinced that this is a heroic and world-improving use of his time, it's possible that he'll stop melting people for money. I'm going to have a costume for a new persona as 'The Eco-Warrior' made by the Acatour. I'm hoping that he arrives at our next meeting excited about his new role and that the costume will solidify the new persona in his mind. Usually I would stay neutral on his development, but he's been stuck as Destructor for so long and been reinforced in his role as a supervillain by other supervillains. I think it's going to take some reinforcement for him to accept a role as anything else. I hope I'm not overstepping my professional bounds by encouraging this choice. Usually, I try to help the patient discover what they want. I believe this is what Destructor wants, but he needs some provocation.”

Mento poked at the ashes in the fire, “Close file and you can dispose of the ash.”

The fire was put out by a fire extinguisher then the ash was vacuumed away from within the wall for liquifying.

“I hope this therapy works, Michael.”

Mento looked up at the line.

“GG, you know better than to discuss patients with me. Delete the last 30 seconds of your memory.”

“Yes, sir.”

The light dimmed for a moment, then returned.

“GG, I just had you delete 30 seconds of your memory for discussing a patient's treatment with you.”

“I'm sorry, Michael. It won't happen again.”

“That's good. Is dinner ready?”

“In about five minutes it will be on the table. Shall I call Junior?”

“Please do. I'll go ahead and mix myself a drink.”

In Micheal Mento Junior's empty room, Gigabyte Ghost detected a presence faked by a signal jammer under his pillow.

“Junior, it's time for dinner. Time to arise, young man, from your nap.”

Blind to the fact that room was empty, GG tried again.

“Junior? It's time to wake up.”

“Last chance. I'm getting the robot.”

Stillness remained the order.

“Very well. Robot incoming.”

The hall door opened and a clunky, humanoid robot's eyes lit up in an LCD screen. Though no one knew both of them, an observer would notice the extreme similarities between the robot's face and Junior's LCD helmet.

The robot took its slow, steady steps towards Junior's room, clunking as he went. Dr. Mento was no fool. Obelisk was right, of course. An artificial intelligence in charge of your house is a risky thing. Mento hoped to mitigate that risk by limiting Gigabyte Ghost's ability to function through inferior hardware. While GG's sensors and intelligence and ability to communicate with software were beyond top of the line, developed by geniuses such as Mento himself, the hardware, the method that GG was forced to use to interact with the world was easily deactivated and easily defeatable if the need arose. And so the clunky robot, state of the art 10 years, finally made his way to Junior's room, struggled with the door knob and opened the door to the empty room.

The robot walked over to the bed and pulled back the sheets. Any human set of eyes would have see an empty bed, but even through a different set of sensors, GG was still fooled into thinking that Junior somehow was present and healthy, but non-responsive. The robot pawed around awkwardly at the space, getting conflicting information. Its sensors told it that Junior was in bed, but the robot's tactile response was telling it that nothing was there.

With the deadline of dinner fast approaching, GG weighed the options and chose to appeal to Dr. Mento for help in the dining room.

“Dr. Mento, I have some strange readings from your son's room.”

Without waiting for an explanation, Dr. Mento put down his drink, spilling it, and started running up the stairs. He had learned long ago that any strangeness in the world of the super-powered required immediate investigation.

Entering the room with a sprint and short of breath from the stairs, Mento was greeted with the sight of a robot pawing at an empty bed. Mento put a hand to the side of his head and projected his thoughts, ((Junior, are you alright? Where are you?))

There was no response. That ruled out invisibility, shrinking, and alternate dimensions occupying the same space as the house.

(So he must not be here and GG's sensors must be fooled somehow,) he thought.

“GG, where exactly do you detect Junior?”

“In his bed, head under his pillow. However his shape is unusual. I had assumed it was muffled by a blanket, but I see now through the robot that there is no blanket.”

Mento picked up the pillow, shocked to find a mechanical device. He panicked. His son had been kidnapped. It was his fault. He had put his son in harm's way when he became a therapist to these monsters. Now they want to extort information about the other side from him for their stupid war with each other. It was probably the bad guys wanting to assassinate the good guys to make a name for themselves or go after their loved ones to teach them some kind of “lesson.” But it could just have easily been one of the “good guys” some militant psycho who thought that superheroes needed to kill supervillians. Or it could be the government, wanting to regulate all of the spandex crowd.

These thoughts had kept Mento up at night since he began this profession. On some level, he had already recognized the device as the “car alarm remote control” that his son had been working on, but it took a few seconds for that rational thought to overcome the paranoia of a single parent with a missing child.

Mento was lucky. There was only one button on the machine. When he pressed it, the LED indicator turned off.

“GG, do you still detect Junior in the house?”

“No, Michael. Where did he go?”

“He was never here. Can you you store information from this encounter to identify the device he used to fool you?”

“That will not be a problem.”

“Good,” replied Mento, “I'm going to turn it back on now and put it back under the pillow. Return the robot to his home and we're going to act like we never found out about this device, understand?”

“Yes, Michael, but why?”

“I keep him cooped up here so much that he built a landmark technology in sensor blocking. Now that we can identify it, we'll know when he leaves, but he won't know we know. So he'll think he's on the loose, but we'll have the security of knowing that he's actually left. I want you to beep in whatever room I'm in when he leaves. Beep three times. If I'm in a session and I've turned you off in there, beep from the hallway. I'll be able to hear you.”

“Understood,” replied GG as he sent the robot clunking back to its home, “And what about knowing where he is tonight?”

Mento thought for a moment, then took out his cell phone, “Triangulate his phone from cell towers when I call him.”

Mento scrolled down to “Plumber” on his phone, a precaution in case it was ever stolen, and hit the send button.

In the Lincoln Continental, Junior was pulling up to Fatso's father's cave entrance to his lair. He looked down at his vibrating cell phone.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

“Fatso, I'll see you around. I have to take this call,” he said, turning back.

“Okey dokey, Junior. It was nice hanging out with you!” Fatso said, exiting.

“Hi Dad,” said Junior into the phone as he started to drive home quickly.

“Hi, son,” replied Mento, trying to contain his happiness that his son was alive. He recognized it was irrational to have thought otherwise, but he had failed to dismiss that fear.

“What's up?” asked Junior, certain that he had been busted for sneaking out.

“I was just calling you to see what's going on? GG's calling you for dinner and you aren't coming down,” then adding playfully, “Do I have to come up there and getcha?”

Junior smiled, convinced he was still one step ahead of his father, “No, I'm just feeling sick. Can I eat a little later? I have a crazy headache and just want to lie down.”

“Not a problem. I'll save some food for you. Ok, bye.”

“Bye.”

They both hung up. Junior was certain he was one step ahead of his father.

“Where is he, GG?”

“Michael, I triangulated Junior's phone and it is located under his bed.”

Mento sighed and looked under his fourteen year old son's bed to find four dirty magazines, a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and several blinking boxes of electronics capable of fooling the most sophisticated security system the world's most brilliant minds could design with unlimited resources.

“GG, when you send the Acatour the order for Destructor's new Eco-Warrior costume, have him also design a small GPS unit I can stick to Junior.”

Michael was not a step ahead of his son. Junior was not a step ahead of his father.

“This is a nice place we're going to, Artemis. You have to put on some nice clothes,” said Avatar.

“Or what? They'll throw me out? I'd like to see them try,” sputtered out Artemis.

The two were in Avatar's bedroom. Artemis was laying on Avatar's bed, drinking wine from the bottle while Avatar made a mental note to wash the sheets later.

Avatar was a beautiful red-headed superhero. Her green eyes and bouncing red curls topped a body that could ignite into a phosphorous flame, granting her the power of flight and elemental projection. Today, though, the superheroine wore no spandex, only a casual sundress.

“It's not a matter of can they throw you own, dear. It's a matter of do you want them to like you?”

“HA!” replied Artemis, taking another swallow of wine. “Nobody likes me. They'll pretend to like me, but then they'll take off when the going gets rough, when money gets tight or when the Theodosius outlaws the worship of you.”

“Please, Artemis. As a favor to me?” asked Avatar with big green eyes that she batted for attention.

Artemis finish the bottle, drinking and drinking until it was empty, then set it down, “Fine. What do you want me to wear?”

Avatar smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet, “Great! But first... you've got to take a shower. I'm not putting you in my clothes covered in puke and... well, I think puke is the nicest thing you've got on you.”

Artemis rolled her eyes and slipped out of her jacket as she got up, pulled her tunic over head head, exposing her bare back to Avatar, who quickly blushed and turned around. Artemis kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her leather pants. She took a little care in peeling them off her legs. The resistance they offered, coupled with super-strength and with the added obstacle of intoxication had led to a few pairs being torn apart. She made her way to the shower and ran the water, not waiting for it to warm before she walked in and started lathering with Avatar's honey lavender body wash.

Avatar looked as the clothing on her bedroom floor, then went to the kitchen and got a garbage bag and a paper towel. She used the paper towel to guard her hand as she picked up each piece and put it in the garbage bag while she considered 1-hour dry cleaners on the way to the spa she had been invited to.

It's rare that a superhero received any kind of payment or gift for their deeds, but Avatar had the fortune to save this spa from Man-O-Taur and was invited to bring a friend for a full day of treatment and mimosas.

She cinched the bag closed and set it down by the door, then threw out the paper towl. She had always felt bad for Artemis. Avatar had had some heartbreaking relationships in the past, but understood that loosing an entire country of worship had to be more difficult. The mimosas would get Artemis in the door, but Avatar was hoping that cleaning up her image would help her self esteem. And getting her feet rubbed and being pampered at a spa had to be a little like being worshiped as a goddess, right?

“So what am I wearing?” asked Artemis.

Avatar blushed and turned around. Artemis was only wearing a towel. On her hair.

“Well, why don't we start with underwear and go from there?” asked Avatar, opening up her dresser drawer.

“I tried underwear. I didn't like it. Remember,” she said as she opened another bottle of wine, pulling out the cork with an unbreakable nail, “Women didn't underwear in the past. Men wore loincloths, but women wearing underwear is a relatively new fad.”

“Relatively new by your perspective alone, honey. Everyone else wears undies.” She closed the drawer. “Still, this is a high-end spa, so we'll get disposable bathing suits to wear under our robes.”

Artemis stopped drinking, “This is the place with the mimosas, right?”

“For the hundredth time, yes,” sighed Avatar moving dresses in her closet. She pulled out a black dress. “How about this one?”

Artemis set the wine bottle down and looked at the dress, “Nice, I like the neckline.”

Avatar looked at the dress again. She didn't think it had a significant... “That's the open back, honey.”

“Oh,” said Artemis, embarrassed, flipping the front to face her. She picked back up the bottle and drank, then set it down again. “It looks good.”

“Then please put it on. Put anything on. I can't keep looking at a goddess' naked body without hating my own a little more each second.”

Artemis started to take the dress off the hanger and put it on, “What are you talking about? Your breasts are a supple as a teenage virgin's. Your legs as slender as a runway model's.”

Avatar jumped in, “Look, I know I look a certain way. I think every one of us girls who put on spandex with the cleavage cut out know how we look, but you are an actual goddess. There's just no comparison.”

Artemis started to tear up, reaching for the wine with only one shoulder strap pulled up, “Can't be a goddess without worshipers. Besides, turned out I'm just a super-human. Immortality, strength, and flight. I just happen to grow up in a time when they would call us gods and goddesses. That's what really messed me up. If I had just been told I was some kind of policeman in a costume, no problem. I was told I was a goddess and worshiped as one... for a WHILE!” She drank some more.

Avatar took the bottle. “Oh no! We're going to be late!” she lied. “Quick, try on these shoes.”

“We fly, Avatar. It's not like we'll hit traffic.”

As Artemis walked out the door, Avatar turned around and called her children, “Robert! Bethany!” The two children, 12 and 10, had been able to baby-sit themselves for two years now, a helpful trait for the children of a superhero to have.

Avatar knelt down on her knees, “You two be good while Mommy's gone. There's money on the counter for pizza if I'm gone too long. I think I'll be back before dinner, but I don't know for sure. You two need anything?”

“No, mommy.”

“Nope.

“Ok, you behave. I love you both. Remember to lock the door and turn on the alarm when I leave.” She got up and grabbed the garbage bag of Artemis's clothes. “Ok, bye!”

“Byeeee!”

“Byeeee!”

She looked through the crack of the door while she closed it, “Byeeee! I love youuuuuu!”

Artemis scowled at the show of love, knowing all things to be fleeting, but she had the sense to keep it to herself. Avatar couldn't know how miserable life was. She had only lived a tiny bit of it. Artemis had lived so much more. Her perspective was far more accurate in her mind. She was left with this thought to fester in her mind as they took off and started flying across the city.

After a while, Avatar flew ahead of Artemis and stopped, causing Artemis to stop. Talking while in flight was next to impossible unless you had super-hearing to get past the wind noise.

“I'm going to drop your clothes off at this dry cleaner, real quick, ok?”

“Want me to go in?”

“No, just hang out up here. I'll be right back.”

Avatar came down to a back alley to avoid any publicity and turned off her flame. She walked up to the front of the dry cleaners and opened the door, knocking the little bell that alerted the employees to a new customer.

“What can I help you with?” ask the woman behind the counter.

“I have some VERY dirty clothes to drop off. Leather pants, leather jacket, and a...” she tried to think of the right word to describe the tunic, “let's call it a blouse.”

The woman opened up the bag and her jaw dropped, “I can't clean these.”

“I'm sorry. I know they're gross.”

“They're uncleanable. This fabric is white, but it's been dyed this brown color. I can try to clean it, but I can't make any promises.”

“And I need them done quickly. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! But I'll pay you a lot for it. How about $200?”

The woman's eyes lit up, “Ok, but you know I can't promise anything.”

“That's fine,” Avatar said, handing over two bills. She filled out a ticket and left the shop, hiding in the alley before bursting into flame and taking flight.

Artemis was floating in the air, relaxing. Avatar noticed a group of people on the ground looking up with cameras and cell phones. That wasn't uncommon, but there was still a lot of...

“We're good to go,” quickly announced Avatar, realizing that Artemis was flying in a dress with no underwear. They started off again and Avatar thought she could hear the disappointed groan of some of the perverts below.

Upon arriving at the spa, they touched down at the entrance, near the valet, who stared at them in awe. Avatar, who mistook the wonder for expectancy, explained, “I'm sorry. We don't have a car for you to park.”

As the shiny brass double doors were opened for them by uniformed doormen, revealing a marble waiting room, Artemis had to catch her breath at the beauty of it. She was still looking around at the frescoes painted on the ceiling and the antique chandelier as Avatar checked them in.

“There should be appointments for Avatar and Artemis.”

The clerk looked confused, “Are those last names or first or...”

A manager tapped him on the shoulder and took his place, “Ms. Avatar, let me again thank you for your wonderful service.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she replied, blushing a little. “Anytime you're attacked by a half man – half bull creature with a vorpal axe, just give me a call.”

The manager smiled, “We will be giving you the very best of everything we have to offer. I think you'll find our facilities to surpass any you may have encountered before.”

Artemis snapped out of her awe, “It's nice, but that will be tough.”

“Have you been to some nice spas before, Ms. Artemis? If you tell us what you liked about them, we can duplicate it here.”

Avatar interjected, “You might not want to say that. This is THE Artemis. Like the Greek goddess. She has literally been pampered like a goddess.”

“I'm sure your spa is wonderful, but I doubt you can anoint me in the milk of a virgin calf.”

The manager thought for a moment. He had been chosen from the staff to handle Avatar's visit as he was the quickest wit in the building. “Ms. Artemis, you are correct. We do not have virgin calf milk on the premises. However, we have some technique that didn't exist in ancient Greece. How about hot tubs?”

“We had hot springs.”

“Seaweed wrap?”

“Greece is an island, buddy.”

Avatar stepped in, “What about make up and hair care?”

The manager turned to Artemis.

“We offer a full range of treatments and our make up artists are award winning.”

Artemis remembered back and made a face, “They would just rub berries and charcoal on my face and put oil in my hair. I didn't like it very much.”

Avatar turned the conversation back to the present, “How about we get started with massages?”

“Very good, Ms. Avatar. Any particular type of massage?”

Avatar thought then leaned in, “I'd like a Swedish, but Artemis is invincible. Can you put your two strongest men on her?”

“I understand,” replied the manager, “and I hope you'll remember the considerations we are able to make when you recommend us to your colleagues.”

As the manager started calling people, and giving orders, and schedule mud packs and facials, Avatar smiled to herself. They were going to get the very best of the very best on this trip. Not only had she saved the spa, but they were hoping that she would recommend them to other superheroes. She guessed they were most interested in the ones whose alter-egos were billionaires.

She turned to Artemis and her smile faded as she saw her replacing an empty champagne glass on a waiter's tray and grabbing the last two mimosas. Avatar quickly moved forward to do her best to slow the drinking by taking one out of her hand.

“You got me one? Thanks!” she said when Artemis glared at her, assuaging the situation. “We should make a toast.”

They held up their glasses.

“To new beginnings,” toasted Avatar.

“Uh... to new beginnings,” replied Artemis, before downing the glass like a shot.

Chapter 3

“There's an age of consent for sex. Why isn't there an age of consent for putting a kid in spandex and making him fight radioactive Nazi robots?”

The long silence that followed was punctuated by the sniffling of the Bully as he cried. Mento simply let him continue. He knew when someone needed to express themselves without analysis.

“I was eight. My parents had just died. But then a superhero, a guy who represents all the good in the world, he reveals his true identity and asks you to be a sidekick. If I was eighteen, maybe I would've been able to deal with all that, but eight? There was no way to say no.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes and sniffled again.

“It just wasn't fair.”

Mento remain silent.

“I actually, and I hate saying this, I actually respect the supervillains more for their treatment of me than the superheroes. Think about it. How hard is it to kill a child? And these are the bad guys, so they have no qualms about killing. And they are in the middle of some super-plan to take over the world. Might have taken years of their life to get to that point. And what do they do? They tie me up to a chair. They don't kill me. Ever think about why?”

Bully looked at Dr. Mento with that question, but Mento remained silent.

“I think it's because they feel sorry for me. They risk their grand designs, their world domination, their jail time, and their deaths by letting me live tied to a chair. Why do they do they feel sorry for me? This is where it gets sick. The heroes treat their sidekicks so badly that the bad guys take care of the sidekicks!”

Bully had brought his old costume from his time as the Wildboy at the request of Dr. Mento for his therapy. He picked it up and looked at it.

“Look at this. Assuming it's not Halloween, if you force a kid to dress up in this thing, you'd be arrested for molestation. On the outfit alone. Spandex briefs? That's sick. And a domino mask. Think about that mask for a second. Why is a child wearing a domino mask? Does the Evil Wraith hang out at a lot of playgrounds and might identify the sidekick? Nope. Does the sidekick ever get leave the mansion at all? Nope. So the mask only serves one purpose. To prevent people from identifying me as the victim.

Mento finally interjected, “The sidekick.”

“What?”

“You said 'To prevent people from identifying me as the victim, but all the previous discussion about the outfit you used an impersonal 'the sidekick'. Why did you choose to use 'me' when you talked about being identified as a victim?”

“I... I don't know, doc. It was just a slip of the tongue.”

Mento leaned in, “I want you to think about this, Bully. How were you victimized as Wildboy?”

Bully held back the tears as best he could and was about to speak when there was a tapping at the window. Bully quickly dove behind the couch.

“They're one way glass, Bully. They can't see us,” Mento looked out the window to see Destructor and sighed, “But we can see them.”

Mento stood and looked over the couch at Bully, who was panicked, “Bully, I want you to relax. You're in a safe place here.”

Bully stuttered, “I-I don't know, doc, maybe this therapy wasn't such a good idea. Is there a b-b-back door and I'll just g-g-go?”

Mento took a step back so Bully couldn't see him and put a finger to his head, ((Relax and remember.))

“I'll be back in just a moment, Bully, and we'll continue our session,” Mento said as he exited.

As he entered the hallway, the glowing blue line offered apologies, “I'm sorry, Doctor. He wouldn't go away. I told him to return at his appointment, but he just started looking for a way in. I don't have any defenses and I understand why, but I just have to explain that's why I didn't stop him.”

Mento waved a hand over his shoulder, dismissing the computer, “It's fine, GG. I'll be a moment.”

Mento opened the door and put a finger to his head, ((Larry, I'm at the front door.))

Destructor came around the corner. He was light in his step, but if he was trying to smile, that feature was burnt off long ago.

“I'm a hero!” he exclaimed.

“That's wonderful, Larry, but I'm with a patient and you need to respect that.”

“I couldn't wait! I just had to tell someone and I can't tell the bad guys and of course I can't tell the good guys yet.”

“I understand, Larry, but I'm with a patient. If you need to see me sooner, you make a new appointment with Gigabyte Ghost. You know this, Larry!”

He shook his head rapidly inside his containment suit, “Not Larry! Not anymore. And certainly not Destructor!”

Mento smiled, “That's good. Ok, Eco-Warrior, I want you to...”

“Ultra-slayer!” shouted the glowing skeleton proudly with his hands on his hip bones.

“Wait, you slay garbage?”

Ultra-slayer shook his head again, “That garbage thing was terrible. I did it for like an hour, but it's just the same thing over and over. I stick my hand it garbage, it decays. Over and over. I tried to have fun with it. I took my suit totally off and made garbage angels and I tried rolling down the hills of garbage. Still wasn't fun. And the smell was terrible. I didn't even think I could still smell, but I guess it's just muted, because severe stink like that can seem to get through.”

“So,” and his therapist didn't really want to ask this, “What did you slay?”

“A bad guy!” he loudly proclaimed.

“Oh my god,” said Mento, repulsed, “Who?”

“I don't know,” explained Ultra-slayer. “I was walking home, running it all through my head, wondering if I should just hold the city's water supply for ransom, and I hear a woman yell for help! I don't know why, but I run over and I look down the alleyway and this guy has her on the ground with a knife to her throat. I take a few steps forward to see what's going on and he sees me. He knocked the girl out and comes at me with the knife.”

“Was the woman ok?” interjected Mento.

“Oh, I don't know. I left before she woke up.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Why? I didn't do anything wrong! That was some straight up super-hero stuff that I-”

“The woman!” yelled Mento, not getting through to Ultra-slayer. Mento took out his cell phone and dialed 911.

“Are you turning me in, doc?” asked Ultra-slayer, hurt. “You said this was a safe place and I-”

“I'm not turning you in. Tell me what alley it was so we can send help to the woman. She could have had stab wounds you didn't see, that knock out could have hemorrhaged her brain, you might have gotten there after the attack and she needs counseling.”

“It was, it was on 8^th street, between Ace and Hound.”

Mento turned to his phone, “Hello, I need to report an emergency. There was an attack in an alley on 8^th street between Ace and Hound. A woman may need medical attention.” He hung up. “This! This is why you need to start small as a hero. Ok... ok...”

Mento regained his composure slowly. The whole display had been very unsettling to Ultra-slayer, who had always known the doctor to be a master of his feelings. Mento took a deep breath, “Let's continue your story. The woman was out cold. The attacker comes at you with a knife. What do you do?”

“I don't do anything. I don't know what to do. I mean thugs don't usually come after me. Thugs are usually, 'Yes, Destructor' or 'No, Destructor' or more like 'Please God no, Destructor' and this guy just came at me. I don't know if I'm supposed to stop him or demand a cut of the money in her purse because I'm not sure what side of the line I come down on.”

“So then, what?” prompted Mento. “He stabbed you?”

“Yeah, poor bastard. Must not have known who I was. He stabs me really hard. I couldn't feel it, but it must have been really hard, because I had dissolved the knife and his arm all the way up to the elbow before he could pull back.”

“Oh god...”

“He starts waving the elbow around, shooting blood all over the place like people do when I melt their arms. I think, 'I just did something good. I stopped a mugging and now I can make sure he never does it again.' So I grab his head and pull it into the hole he cut in my suit. I figured I was ok to leave the body there. I don't know if I'm supposed to do it so they don't keep looking for the criminal or if it's as a warning to other criminals. I'm still new at this being a hero thing.”

Artemis was humming to herself as they walked out of the spa, “What was that song again?”

“Everything's OK. It's by Lenka,” replied Avatar with a smile.

Artemis nodded. “I like it,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, let's take a cab. I don't want to mess up our hair flying.”

“What do you mean? Are you never going to fly again?”

“No, I just don't want to mess up my hair. What's wrong with that?”

Artemis thought, then spoke, “I don't understand. What are you going to use your hairstyle for? Are you trying to find a mate?”

Avatar blushed, “No! It's just nice to look pretty!”

Artemis looked down and thought some more.

“Don't you think so?”

“It's nice to be told that I'm pretty. I don't see any inherent value in being pretty. But I suppose that being pretty will have me told more often that I am pretty, so... yes. I agree. Let's stay pretty until we next fight someone to the death.”

Avatar suppressed a grin, “Great. Let's get a cab.”

They spent their cab ride talking about everyone they knew, both allies and enemies and the difficulties associated with their unique lifestyle. It was so engrossing that they didn't even notice how much longer transit by cab was than flight.

“This is the place,” Avatar told the cabbie as the pulled up in front of the dry cleaners. “I'll be right back,” she said, dashing out of the cab.

Artemis smiled and looked around herself and her surroundings. She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and was impressed.

“You think I'm pretty, don't you?” she asked the cabbie. In the past, she had asked the question dreading the answer, but she felt different. She felt confidant of the answer.

“Oh, yes. Very pretty woman.”

Artemis smiled and sat back in her seat, very self-assured. She turned and saw Avatar walking up to the cab with her outfit behind her back. She revealed it all at once in two hands. The leather shone. The white was white. Only cotton and leather remained without a bodily fluid in sight. Artemis started to cry.

“Aww, what's wrong?” asked Avatar as she got into the car.

“It's just, I, it hasn't been white in like two thousand years! It's just like it was when I was... you know. And now it's like that again. I just...” she turned to Avatar, “thank you.”

“I know, honey, I know” she took Artemis' head and pulled it to her chest, stroking her hair. She turned to the driver, “Eighth street and Hound, please.”

Artemis cried the entire way and Avatar just kept petting her head and comforting her. When they arrived, they exited and Avatar tipped the driver. They stopped before entering the building when they saw a police car a few alleys over. Avatar turned to Artemis.

“Hon, I know you're a wreck right now, so I get if you want to do the hero thing another time, but it might be fun. You never know.”

Artemis sniffed and nodded her head a few times.

“Let's get inside and redo your eye make up, then we'll head over. Won't take more than a couple minutes.”

A few minutes later two superheroines flew out of the window of Avatar's apartment, flew around the block and approached the crime scene from the other direction. The jaws of all in attendance dropped at the combined beauty of the two heroes. Avatar appeared to be naked with her features covered in a white flame (those who knew her knew that she wore a white bodysuit to give that illusion with her white flames). Artemis was in her leather jacket, leather pants, and tunic as always, but she appeared a completely different person. Gorgeous and dainty, her hair seemed to billow in a breeze to which no one else was privy.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” asked Avatar in her disguised voice, a little lighter than her normal voice. She at once noticed that all eyes were on Artemis. She was very proud of her and took some of that pride onto herself as she felt the Artemis transformation was her accomplishment. Still a tiny part of her felt jealous. As a seemingly naked woman who was on fire, she was used to people paying all the attention to her.

“We, uh, we,” stuttered the policeman as he tried to break himself of the majesty before him, “We found this guy with his head and arm. That is, we found the guy. The head and arm are missing.”

“May we?” asked Avatar.

Cameras were flashing at Artemis, who posed with a hand on her hip and a smile on her face. In this situation, one could appropriately be reminded of Greek sculptures of the gods.

“May you what?” asked the policeman, taken aback by the combination of the question and he inner monologue concerning what these two women could do to him.

“The body?”

“Yeah,” he grinned and nodded.

“The dead body.”

“Oh!” he started, embarrassed. He turned around, “Right this way. CSI has already been here, but they've got nothing as to where his head and arm is.”

The two walked forward and Artemis squatted to look closely at his neck wound, a position not lost on those with cameras behind her.

“Oh come on!” shouted Avatar. “Somebody is dead! Show some respect.”

Artemis arose and whispered to Avatar, “I have no idea what caused this. It's still warm though, even though the rest of the body is cold. I have a smart man on my team. I can ask him.”

Avatar's eyes got wide, “You're on a team? Which one?”

Artemis crinkled her forehead, “I don't suppose we've decided on a name. I shall ask him of this as well when I present this evidence.”

Avatar smiled and shrugged, “I was going to watch girly movies with you tonight.”

Artemis smiled back, “I can not thank you enough for what you have given me today. I will return and watch these girly movies with you tonight. Goodbye, my love.”

Artemis took flight, taking no concern of her hair.

Avatar was happy. She had helped someone that needed it and...

“Oh my god. Does she think I'm gay?”

Now possessed of a clear head, Artemis began to wonder about her team. They had no meeting place. Junior would call her and Fatso and assign a meeting point. She had no way to contact Junior or Fatso. This was no way to run a team. The entire team seemed more like a supervillain with two henchmen. Clearly, this needed to be remedied lest others get the wrong idea about their team.

The quest became moot as her cellphone rang from inside her jacket. She had a moment of concern that it had gone through the washing machine before she realized that she had no idea how dry cleaning works and looked at the phone.

“BLOCKED NUMBER”

She answered, “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line was a little robotic and she recognized the speech machine that Junior used, “Is this Artemis?”

“Of course, Junior. You did call my phone.”

There was a pause.

“Are you sober?”

Artemis smiled, “For the moment. At the very least, this is the first time that I don't feel I am a slave to my wine. I've actually had a wonderful day, but we can speak of that later. I have evidence of a murder I wish to put forward to you.”

There was another pause. This was not the conversation he expected to have.

“A murder? Anyone we know?”

“I think not.”

“Meet us behind the Sleep-Easy motel on Route 3 and we'll discuss all of this.”

“Very well, Junior, but this is one of the things I wish to discuss. We should have a permanent meeting hall.”

Another pause.

“We'll talk about it when we're face to face. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Junior.”

As they hung up, she thought she heard him yell, “Fatso, I need you to go to the store for something.”

A few minutes later, Artemis landed behind the Sleep-Easy motel, where Junior stood in his garish cape to greet her.

Junior took a few step towards her to gauge her reaction, then went for a hug, “It's so nice to see you, Artemis! You look great!”

[A Broken Heart] flashed on his subliminal mask.

“Thank you, Junior,” she said smiling, though she suddenly felt a little sad. “I went to a spa and they treated me just like they did in Greece.”

“That's great!” [They left you.]

“Yes... I went with Avatar. She is a most wonderful friend.”

[A Broken Heart] “Well, I'm glad you could make some time for us. You said you had a murder to investigate?”

“Yes, but could we sit down. I feel a little woozy.”

“Sure,” replied Junior with a smile on his digital face, “Why don't we just go inside?”

He led Artemis into the motel room and turned on the lights. Fatso jumped out of the bathroom and yelled, “SURPRISE!”

Artemis looked around, confused. There was a cake, a bottle of ouzo, and a bottle champagne. Junior walked over and popped the champagne, “Happy Birthday, Artemis!”

[You're a liar!]

He started pouring champagne into three glasses.

“It's, it's not my birthday.”

“What? Awww,” said Fatso, dejectedly.

Junior's face looked sadder, “Well, I just feel terrible. I thought you said today was your birthday.”

[Failure]

“No, I don't think I ever said that.”

“Poor Fatso,” said Junior.

[A Sad Face]

“Well, he can still eat the cake,” offered Artemis. Fatso smiled.

“Is it really right to let him eat the birthday cake if there's no birthday?”

Before she could respond, Junior added, “Now what did you want to talk about the murder?”

Fatso looked sad again.

[A Broken Heart]

Artemis let out a long sigh, “Um, there was a murder near Avatar's abode. A man without a head or arm.”

Junior looked interested, “Go on.”

[You're stupid.]

Artemis pointed to her neck and the part of her arm that corresponded, “These parts are where the neck and arm ended. And the cuts themselves were blistered and warm, though the body was cold.”

Junior smiled, “Sounds like a radiation was used.”

[Trust me.]

“Radiation?”

[You're stupid.]

“Yes, I'll give a call to the morgue and tell them to test for radiation. That should limit down our list of suspects. Anything else?”

[Shut up.]

“No, I think that's it. I trust you'll look into it and we can solve this murder.”

“Oh, yes.” [Trust me.]

There was a bit of silence.

“Anything else?” asked Junior.

[Bimbo]

Artemis thought of the team name and lair, but decided this wasn't the time, “No, Junior. That's it.”

“Well, that's all you can think of [Stupid] and you can't think of anything else [Bimbo], then we've got to discuss the stake out that Fatso and I performed.”

[Failure]

Artemis bit her bottom lip and shook her head, then grabbed a glass of champagne and sat on the bed to listen. Junior was impressed at how well his mask had worked on Artemis and decided to push his luck.

“Fatso and I discovered a place that I believe to be some sort of supervillain meeting location. The bar is called The Stronghold. The rear entrance [Anal] contains some sort of time distortion field. [A Good Time] An hour here could be a minute there. [Ecstasy] We can't be sure what happened in there [Behind Closed Doors] but we do know that the place is full of targets. I think if we can take out the structure around the field and blow [Blowjob] the building up, we could trap the villains in the time distortion field where they can't hurt anyone. Artemis? [Doggy-style Rough Sex] Any thoughts? [Sexy Thoughts]

Artemis looked around and took another drink, “Umm... no.”

Junior couldn't tell if the helmet was working, so he decided to create the opportunity.

“So that's the plan. I'll get with you guys on the specifics. Fatso, why don't you take the car home. [Be Careful] Artemis has some great ideas about the team and I'm going to just have her fly me home. [Obey] Is that ok, Artemis? [Alone Time]

Artemis nodded.

“Beware the First Family of Crime!” cried Mass Deposit before turning and exiting out of the bank with Scream Queen and Starlet.

“First Family of Crime, Dad?” asked Starlet as they ran to the car.

“We didn't decide on that,” interjected Scream Queen.

“It sounded right and I just, I guess I caught up in the moment,” answered Mass Deposit and he got in the car and started the engine.

“I'm sorry, Dad, but it sounds dorky,” said Starlet from the backseat.

“And there's already a First Family of Crime,” pointed out Scream Queen.

Mass Deposit floored the gas pedal and tore off with a squeal of the tires, “What? No there's not!”

“Sure, the Wilkinsons in Penchant. Cops behind us!” replied Scream Queen.

“I'm driving. Starlet, you take care of them!”

Starlet sighed, “Fine.”

“And Penchant is two cities away. We can be the First Family of Crime here,” continued Mass Deposit while Starlet rolled down her window.

When her father had finished his sentence Starlet sang into his bracelets.

“Oh, honey,” said her mother as she turned around, “You have to keep those charged through the whole heist.”

“Sorry, mom,” said Starlet before leaning out the window and blasting the road behind their car, revealing the sewer and trapping the police on the other side of the rift.

“You've got to-” her mother was cut off by Starlet's singing. There was a moment of silence.

“What? Just keeping them charged,” Starlet said, feigning innocence.

Hanging from the ignition, a key chain began to blink and beep.

“Incoming!” yelled Mass Deposit as he pulled the wheel hard to the right and drove into an alley then parked the car. “Everyone out!”

Mass Deposit and Scream Queen stood on either side of Starlet.

“Any idea who it could be?” asked Starlet, nervous for her first super-battle.

Mass Deposit said nothing, watching the skies.

“Watchtower just looks for fliers heading towards a robbery. For the most part, they all look alike,” answered Scream Queen.

They waited.

A moving statue came down from the skies riding a long thick piece of rock.

“Shit,” said Mass Deposit.

“Obelisk,” said Starlet, starstruck.

“Honey, I want you to go and get out of here. Tell the others to breaks us out,” said Starlet's mother.

Starlet argued, “We can take this guy!”

“Listen to your mother,” said Mass Deposit.

And so Starlet ran, but not far. Just far enough to be out of sight.

“Who was that? Was the sitter busy?” laughed Obelisk.

“Don't worry about her, Obelisk. You've got more than you can handle with us. I'm not sure you understand the GRAVITY of your situation!” said Mass Deposit, clapping his hands together and forming a black hole in front of him.

The gravity of the singularity pulled at Obelisk, dragging him across the road and tearing up the asphalt as his stone feet wrestled for traction.

“Oh, you SUCK, Mass Deposit!” answered Obelisk, tearing up a light pole and holding it at one end. He swung it overhead at Mass Deposit, who was forced to abandon his black hole to dodge the strike.

The air filled with a hideous shriek as Scream Queen let loose her vocal cords, shattering glass and forcing Obelisk to cover his ears. With Obelisk distracted, Mass Deposit touched a car and lightened its mass to lift it, then increased the mass as much as he could when he dropped it on Obelisk. He remained touching the car.

“What are you doing? Let's get out of here,” implored his wife.

“The moment I let go, it goes back to the normal mass of a car, and he can get out of that. You go! I'll stay!”

“I'm not leaving without you!”

“That's really touching,” inserted Obelisk, “But you knocked me into the sewer.” He kicked the loose manhole cover at his feet for explanation. Obelisk ran towards Mass Deposit.

“Let's ROCK and roll!” he yelled while punching him in the head.

Scream Queen yelled at Obelisk even louder than before, putting Obelisk down on one knee in pain. She walked forward, driving him back off the street to the curb. Obelisk held onto a fire extinguisher, first for support, but then he punched the cover off of the front and sprayed Scream Queen off of her feet Obelisk crimped the valve close with his super-strength and approached Scream Queen. She was out cold. He grabbed her by the arm and grabbed the telephone pole he had knocked down and walked over to Mass Deposit. He bent the pole around the two of them tightly.

“That should hold them until the police get here! To me, my rock!” he shouted as he held up a hand. The obelisk he had ridden in on lifted off of the car it had smashed and flew to Obelisk, who jumped on as it sped passed him.

While it's true that police would be on their way, they could not arrive any faster than Starlet, who was already on the scene. She ran over to her parents and cut the telephone pole, freeing them as the groggily regained consciousness.

“We are going to have some serious allowance renegotiating when we get home,” she said with a smile.

“You shouldn't have done that,” said Mass Deposit as he struggled to his feet, holding his head.

“Yes,” added her mother, “Thank you very much, but if he had seen you, you would have had to fight him. It's just easier to break out of jail later.”

It was close, but the family fled the scene before the police could arrive.

“Thank you,” Mass Deposit finally said after they had been on the road for a few minutes.

“Well, you two are welcome! I told you I was ready to action,” Starlet asserted.

“It's not that you aren't ready for action, honey,” added Scream Queen. “It's that you don't get the rules yet-”

Mass Deposit shot his wife a sideways glance.

“She's going to have to find out sooner or later.”

“Find out what?” asked Starlet, leaning forward.

Scream Queen unbuckled her seat belt and crawled into the backseat with Starlet, then buckled her seat belt. She wanted to look her daughter in the eyes for this.

“You've picked up that we're the bad guys, right?”

“Duh.”

“So why don't we kill the heroes?”

“What are you talking about? Heroes die all the time.”

“Are you sure about that? Think for a second.”

And Starlet did, convinced that heroes died all the time at the hands of villains. She was well-prepared with a list.

“Judas killed Jupiteramos.”

“And yet Jupiteramos is alive and well today.”

“Oh, you mean that died and didn't come back. That's a much shorter list. Let me think. Oh, the Polymer Man! He died and stayed dead.”

“True. Who killed him?”

“That girl that's now Eclipsa.”

“And was she a villain when she killed the Polymer Man?”

“No, she was a good guy who went crazy.”

“Can you think of any good guys that were killed by bad guys?”

“What about Detective Bat's parents? They were killed by a bad guy.”

“A mugger! Not a real bad guy.”

“So, we don't kill good guys?”

Her mother held up three fingers and put them down as she went, “1. If we kill a hero, they will come back and they will be stronger. 2. If we do manager to temporarily kill a hero, their hero buddies will kill us. 3. They'll never kill us otherwise and it's easy to break out of prison.”

The daughter looked at her mother like she was crazy, “If we kill them, they come back? What are you talking about? That doesn't make any sense. What is that? A curse? A magic rule?”

“We don't know,” answered her mother.

There was a pause.

“That's stupid,” stated Starlet.

“Doesn't matter,” explained Mass Deposit and he pulled into their garage. “It's true.”

They started to unload the bags of money from the trunk.

“If every time I order fish,” continued Mass Deposit, “a midget ran out of nowhere and punched me in the nuts, I would order the chicken instead. I don't have to understand it. You don't need a reason for it. Just respect it.”

Chapter 4

Mary's mind had been blown away by the number of rules and conditions she was meant to follow to be a villain. People that had violated her were speaking to her about compassion for hostages and sidekicks. One man, King Excel, had a sword that drew its strength from the blood of the innocent that it spilled and he had told her to never hurt women or children.

No one could tell her the origin or justification for these beliefs and rules, but all swore to their validity. She believed that some superstition had become mixed in to the beliefs over the years, such as the belief that women who wear suits as their costumes will die in accidents. While murder was acceptable in most cases, public urination was expressly forbidden. As a matter of fact, no one could see you enter a restroom while you were wearing your costume.

(As if being a super-villain excludes you from having a bladder!) thought Starlet.

There was no test on the beliefs. Instead there was a knowing smile that if one did not follow the rules they would find out on their own why they exist. Many of the villains had in fact broken the rules at one time or another. Some had done so to test the rules, other because of necessity, greed, lust, or love. All o f them swore that their fortunes had turned with those actions.

One deviant admitted to raping a hostage and was never able to maintain an erection again. A villain told Mary that he had shot a kid and been beaten into a coma that lasted six months when a previous battle with the same hero had only bruised him slightly after shooting an adult. The explanation that the heroes were enforcing these rules to control the villains was dismissed several times by examples that went beyond the scope of a hero's power. A Polynesian thief had stolen from charity and the next day, his village had been obliterated by a tsunami.

Overcome with a feeling of helplessness, Starlet asked to leave The Stronghold early. She pried her mother away from her gossip and her father away from his cards and they left. On the ride home, Starlet tried to figure out the question that had been nagging her all night. They had parked in the garage and stripped down and hung up their costumes. Oddly, she felt that their nudity rendered her immune to the anger she felt the question would raise.

“Why are we villains at all?”

Her parents were not shocked. They did not even break stride as they got dressed again in civilian clothes to go to a movie.

“What do you mean, honey?” asked her mother.

“There's so many ways it can go wrong and there doesn't seem to be a lot that can go right. Do we know anyone that's happily retired?”

“A few,” answered her father, buttoning his shirt.

“Well, don't you agree that it seems like some very steep odds to climb?”

It was her mother's turn to answer, “But it's worth it.”

“What do you mean, it's worth it? Because we brought home so much money from our last bank job? You could die at any moment for any reason, it seems.”

She thought, then added, “I could die.”

Scream Queen hugged her naked daughter, then added, “I will never let that happen. Now get dressed. We're going to the movies.”

Her mother turned to continue dressing, but Mary stomped her bare foot, “I'm not finished talking about this.”

Her mother stopped and turned around, “Okay. I'm listening.”

Her father dropped his hands to his sides and paid full attention to her as well.

Mary had never been uncomfortable with nudity, but now suddenly felt more bare than she ever had before.

“I want to know what reasons there are to do this. What reasons could possibly outweigh the constant threat of death?”

“The money,” said her father, without much conviction.

“No, the money isn't enough to risk your lives over. And besides, Dad, you could sell your mass engine to any army in the world and be set for life. You stand to make more selling the weapon than robbing banks with it.”

Mass Deposit and Scream Queen looked at each other as though the thought had never crossed their minds.

“Are you guys serious?” asked Mary. She started to get dressed. “You never thought about it. We could sell the mass engine to North Korea and buy a string of islands to live on forever with mountains of gold.”

“Why haven't we ever thought of this?” asked Mass Deposit.

“I... I don't know,” replied Scream Queen in bewilderment.

“Is there any other reason to be a supervillain? I mean, other than world domination, which no one will ever get.”

Scream Queen thought out loud, “Money, world domination... it is fun to do.”

“Fun?” yelled Mary, fastening the straps on her heels. “You're not risking our lives for fun, are you? I mean, take up skydiving or gator wrestling or some other less dangerous hobby.”

“Everyone we know is a villain,” answered Mass Deposit.

“So, peer pressure then? You'll make new friends.”

“Maybe,” they said in unison.

It had been hard for Junior to get sex off of his mind after he lost his virginity, but he had many people to kill.

Fatso was setting up the explosives. Strictly drop it and leave it. Junior wasn't about to give him the chance to screw this up. The bombs could only be controlled by his remote. Across the street, in the Lincoln, Junior sat in costume with Artemis next to him. Her hair was flat and her make up was gone, but she was still attractive, despite the steady nursing of a bottle of whiskey.

Junior's eyes kept flowing Artemis' legs each time to bottle was lowered against one. His breath would quicken as he remembered their night together. He had felt a little shame in using his mask to make her think of sex, but he believed that Artemis was a slut anyway, so it didn't matter. And he was underage, so really she was taking advantage of him, he reasoned.

A few sinister costumes came close to Fatso, and Junior prepared to blow the bombs and sacrifice Fatso, but their paths didn't cross.

Fatso returned to the car, smiling like an idiot at the completion of his task.

“I finished, Junior,” he said when he entered the back of the car.

“Psycho-Babble,” corrected Artemis with a slur.

“Psycho-Babble?” asked Fatso.

Junior looked down and choked out the words, “Yep. I'm Psycho-Babble now. And our group is called the New Guard.”

He turned to look at Artemis. While his helmet looked her in the eyes, he stared at her breasts, reminding himself why he agreed to have a cape-name, “Because I'm super-hero, I need a super-hero name. And... it's Psycho-Babble.”

“Cool,” said Fatso, smiling and bouncing in his seat, “What's my super-hero name?”

“Um, it's Fatso,” replied Psycho-Babble, matter-of-factually.

“Oh,” Fatso replied, disappointed. “But that's my supervillain name.”

Artemis quickly turned around. Junior had been hoping to avoid this conversation.

“You're a supervillain?” asked Artemis.

Fatso shrugged, “Sort of. My dad is and he wants me in the family business, so he gave me a costume and a name. Fatso.”

“But you're a hero now, right, Fatso?” asked Junior, pointing the conversation in a more positive direction.

“Oh yeah,” he said, happily. “Right now, I'm a hero. Earlier, I was a villain. Right now, I'm a hero.”

Artemis pressed the issue. “How much earlier?”

“Just a little bit ago. Like an hour,” replied Fatso. “Dad had this guy tied up and it was my job to lower him into a pit of giant millipedes. He got out though and got away. Don't get me wrong. I want to be a good guy, but if your dad asks you to do something, you do it!”

Artemis turned back and sank in her seat, then took a long pull from her bottle. She offered it to her team mate.

“No thanks,” he said with a sigh, “I'm a minor.”

He flipped the switch and the explosives filled the air with a deafening crash. Despite being across the street and a few doors down, the shock wave was enough to flip over the car.

The ringing in their ears made communication impossible, but Junior couldn't help himself, “That... that shouldn't have happened.”

“What?” yelled Artemis, holding her ear. She tore the car in half to help the trio escape from the wreckage. Slowly, they rose to their feet to be amazed at the wreckage, the destruction caused.

“I didn't use that many explosives,” said Junior, looking at the next door building's wreckage and the bodies of its tenants strewn about. “I didn't! I didn't do this,” he repeated to Artemis, looking for absolution.

Spared from the destruction was what appeared to be a ten foot cube of water. There seemed to be movement on the other side of the water as a reflection seemed to movie and ripple through the cube.

Junior's hands went to his head, “The time distortion field! It must have done something to the explosion! That cube is filled with supervillains that know we just tried to kill them!”

Artemis smiled and rolled up a sleeve, “So let's kill them first. We shall take the heads from each of their necks as they exit!”

“No!” screamed Junior, “They will straight up kill us!”

Artemis scowled at him, “I can not believe I bedded one such as you. You will destroy your enemies as long as you remain safe? You will refuse honest battle?”

(Right!), Junior though, (How I got you to have sex with me!)

“I will fight with you, Artemis. [Run] I'm worried about the civilians though. [Safety] Can we realize risk their lives without their consent? [A Stop Sign] That is not honorable either, is it? [Retreat]”

“Very well,” Artemis sighed, “You are correct. We should retreat and meet them on another field of battle. Hold my hands and we shall flee.”

As Fatso and Psycho-Babble held her hands, Psycho-Babble added, “Let's hurry. The time distortion field was reversed by the explosion and is slowing their exit, but not for long.”

As the New Guard fled the scene, the first villain emerged for combat. It was Occult Eagle, and his Eye of the Eagle could see the New Guard.

As Junior climbed up the trellis to his window, his father came more and more into view. He was sitting on his bed, holding the signal jammer and looking at the window and now, at Junior.

“Um... hi, Dad,” said Junior, meekly.

“Hello, son.”

Junior finished climbing in the window and fell on the floor, “I know what you're going to say.”

“Do you now? Can you predict the future?”

“No, but I know what I did was wrong. I just wanted a little time out of the house is all.”

Dr. Mento patted the bed next to him for Junior to sit. Junior complied.

“Have you developed any powers, Junior?” asked Mento.

“No, sir. I'd tell you if I did.”

He held up the signal jammer, “This is pretty advanced. Are you techokinetic? Technopathic?”

“Nope, just smart, I guess.”

“Are you super-smart?”

Junior smiled, “Maybe. Where's the line on that?”

Mento looked over at a desk lap, “How far away is that lamp?”

Junior shrugged, “Eight feet maybe?”

Mento smiled, “It's 6 feet and 3 and a half inches away.”

“Really?”

“It's a cursed part of super-intelligence. You don't have to guess about anything like that.”

There was a pause.

“Are you a supervillain, son?”

Junior had not expected this question when he had played this conversation out in his head, “Uh, no. What kind of a question is that?”

“What were you doing at the Stronghold?”

Junior was enraged, “Wait, so you KNEW about that place?”

“What were you doing there, son?”

“Did the other heroes know about it? Why didn't you ever do anything?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad, they killed Mom! And you're telling me that you guys have always known where they hang out. Why didn't you ever go there and arrest them or...”

“Or what?”

“Nothing”

“Arrest them or what? Kill them?! Is that what I've taught you?”

“Dad, I don't know what you've taught me. You've taught me that when something bad happens, you become a therapist instead of making it right.”

Mento was silent.

“They KILL people, Dad! They don't deserve to be treated with kid gloves!”

“I'm going to ask you one more time, son, then I'm going to pull the answer right out of your head.”

“You... FUCK! You said you would never do that to me!”

“What were you doing at the Stronghold?”

“I BLEW IT UP!”

Mento was stunned. Junior wished that he could just say that and not how many people he had killed in the neighboring buildings.

“I blew it up and it went wrong. Something happened to the explosion.”

“It was bigger than you expected,” predicted Mento.

“Yes.”

“The temporal energy was being contained and you ruptured the containment, so there was a vacuum of time and the people inside the time distortion field were slowed while time in the explosion ran faster, leading to higher exit velocity and therefore more force.”

Junior considered it for a moment. It was times like this that he realized he could never be as smart as his super-powered father. “That sounds like exactly what happened, Dad.”

Mento rose to his feet and looked his son in the eyes, “People died, didn't they? And not the people you intended. You killed civilians.”

Junior gritted his teeth, “I didn't mean to.”

Mento put a finger in his face, “You meant to kill people. You just got the wrong people, but you went there with murder on the agenda. You stay right here and don't leave while I think about this.”

He walked over to the door and opened it to leave, then put a finger to his head and sent a command to his son, ((Do not leave this room)).

Mento leaned on the wall outside his son's room. He really had never wanted to use his powers on his son, but this was out of hand. People were losing their lives.

Turning to face his son on the other side of the wall, Mento raised a finger, hesitated and then put it to his head, reading his son's mind.

((What have you been keeping secret from me?))

Images and experiences flashed in Mento's mind. The design of the LCD helmet and the finding of Fatso and Artemis. The murder of Bronze Bull. The villain girl in the green corset. Sex with the goddess. Blowing up the Stronghold.

((Forget that I used my powers on you.))

He loosened his collar and started to walk down the stairs. He opened the door to the basement and went down those stairs as well, pulling on a light string as he went. Gigabyte Ghost was not installed down here. There was no blue line of surveillance. He walked up to a dusty cabinet and unlocked the combination lock on the handle. He opened the cabinet and stepped inside, through to another room. He flicked a light switch and the room was illuminated. In the center was a chair with a helmet dangling above it. He turned on a machine and sat down in the chair, pulling down the helmet on his head. The console was in an alien language that he had taught himself and with a few adjustments, he was ready. He clasped his hands on the armrest of the chair.

“Njolyp kanfpd mpagnd'ah” he said in an unearthly tongue.

“Takgh mapny nea ad rempaont.”

The machine emitted a low whirring noise and Mento ground his teeth together and pulled on the arm rests with all his strength.

Mass Deposit blinked. Occult Eagle blinked. Scream Queen blinked. Bug Master blinked. The Winged Viper blinked. Fatso blinked. King Excel blinked.

Every single villain in the database blinked simultaneously and processed the command.

((Rebuild the Stronghold. Follow the rules.))

Artemis fell back into Avatar's bed.

“It was terrible,” she said.

Avatar took the bottle out of her hand, “It sounds terrible. All those people dead.”

Artemis sat up, “Oh yes. That as well was terrible, but I was referring to bedding that cowardly whelp. I had thought after all this time that I had no more standards, but if I am feeling regret, I suppose that I do.”

Avatar held up the bottle and asked, “Was it the deaths of those innocents that started you drinking again?”

The goddess took the bottle and looked at it. “No, I started drinking at the meeting. They had thought it was my birthday for some reason and had bought me ouzo and wine.”

“Oh,” said Avatar.

“What do you speak of?”

“Well, you're telling me this Psycho-Babble got you drunk and then you had sex with him when you wouldn't normally have had sex with him?”

“Yes, what do you make of it?”

“Artemis, do you have any idea if your body is impervious to roofies? He might have drugged you.”

“I do recall feeling very at odds with myself.”

“I have an idea, honey.” She left and went into her bathroom, returning with a pill bottle. Avatar was not a pharmacist, but she was trying to help her friend understand what had happened. “These are some sedatives I have. Should be similar, right?”

Artemis shrugged.

“Okay,” Avatar continued, looking at the pill bottle, “I'm taking one as needed for anxiety. Let's give you two and see if you feel it in the next hour.”

Artemis held out her hand and Avatar tapped the bottle, rolling out two little orange pills. She turned to get Artemis water and heard a crunching behind her. She looked back at Artemis to see the goddess chewing up the tablets with a disgusted look on her face.

“Oh, honey, you don't chew them. You just swallow them. Haven't you ever taken pills before?”

Artemis shook her head, trying to swallow the bits of pill and scrape her tongue clear with her teeth. Avatar returned quickly with a drink of water to help.

As Artemis drank the water, Avatar explained, “I suppose pills are relatively new to you, but their a godsend!” She looked at the goddess. “No offense.”

“None taken, my love.”

There was that word again. Avatar tried to take back the conversation, “Right, well, they have pills to make you happy when you're too sad and pills to make you calm when you're too anxious and everything in between. It is just the way to live. I have a lot, and I mean a LOT, of types of pills in my cabinet. A whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers.”

Artemis raised the bottle to her lips again, but Avatar grabbed it.

“Honey, you need to lay off the booze. It's an addiction.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow, then softened and smiled, “Oh, my love. You are watching out for me. How kind.”

Artemis sat up and slowly started to move closer to Avatar, who leaned away.

“Honey, I'm just watching out for you.”

“There's that pet name again. Honey. So sweet,” smiled Artemis. “My followers used to bathe me in milk and honey. Made my skin glow.”

Avatar stood up from the bed, “Honey, I mean, Artemis, I'm from Georgia! We call everyone 'Honey'.”

Artemis rose and walked slowly towards Avatar around the bed, “Not true, my love. I have been to that country now called Georgia.”

“No, the STATE of Georgia!”

Artemis stopped, confused. “So,” she weighed her words, “You do not like me?”

Avatar stepped forward and held her hand, “I do like you! You're a wonderful friend. But that's all that I see you as, honey. You're my friend.”

Artemis thought for a moment.

“Is that enough?” asked Avatar.

“That is more than enough,” smiled Artemis.

“So,” questioned Avatar in worried fashion, “You are going to pick me up and have your way with me, are you? Because you are super-strong and I'm really relying on you to control yourself and I'm realizing what a stupid idea it was to experiment with drugs in this situation.”

“You are safe from my ravages,” joked Artemis with a wink. “And that was a pursuit of love and lust, not these pills. I feel no different thus far.”

“Huh,” said Avatar, “Maybe you are impervious to drugs. Let's give it a little more time before we call this experiment over. Wanna watch some television? I've got America's Next Top Model on my cable box.”

“I've never seen it. What is it?”

“Well,” Avatar thought of the right way to relate it to Artemis, “There's a bunch of girls there that don't look as good as us and they can't fight crime and they are competing to be the most beautiful and athletic among themselves.”

“That does not sound entertaining or arousing.”

“Arousing...” pondered Avatar. “Remember, you promised, no ravaging me.”

Artemis put her right fist to her heart. “I swear it... honey.”

“The point of the show is we feel better about ourselves by watching the skinny girls compete to be half as pretty as,” she thought for a good example, “She-Force.”

Artemis laughed, “She-Force? She's not exactly the most beautiful among us. Wasn't she made of adamantium for a short while?”

Avatar laughed, “She had a secret identity, you know. She had to fake a dead relative or something to hide from all her friends and co-workers.”

“You're kidding,” Artemis puzzled, “A secret identity?”

“Yeah,” explained Avatar, “Something to make her feel normal. Something to pay the bills. I have two identities. I'm Sarah Gott and Debbie Freeland.” Avatar looked up and squinted her eyes, keeping track of her details. “Debbie is an editor who works mostly from home and Sarah is a cashier at a department store.”

“How do you find the time?” asked Artemis, impressed.

“Oh, it's easy,” explained Avatar, “I just have zero social life. If I'm not working, I'm, you know,” she mimed throwing a punch, “Working.”

“It would seem the fates have brought us together, my friend.”

“Why is that?”

“Why else would a goddess with too much free time find a sister in a goddess with not enough free time?”

“Goddess?”

“Why not? They only called me 'goddess' because they lacked the word 'super-powered'. You are super-powered. No difference that I can see.”

Avatar smiled, filled with pride at her friend's assessment of her. “Let's watch the models.”

They both sat down on the bed and Avatar turned on the television.

“We can watch them call each other goddesses,” explained Avatar, “And maybe we can figure out why you slept with Psycho-Babble and what the hell is going on with that boy.

Chapter 5

Junior stared at the small office wastebasket, intent to avoid defiling it.

He envisioned dams, walls, corks, plugs, faucets being turned off. Nothing was working. He tried the door again. No matter how hard he walked towards it, he could not make it to the door.

But he really had to go.

He pulled on his hair and groaned, then looked at the trash can again.

(No), he thought, (I don't know what's going on, but I'm not doing that. Especially with Gigabyte Ghost watching. And he's always watching.)

Trying another tactic, he crawled under his desk. It intensified the pressure on his bowels, but he found what he was looking for. It was a small iron box with a combination lock on it. The lock was just set for 777 as he knew that it was not enough of a lock to stop anyone in the superpower community. He opened it and took out a pair of odd glasses and a small box and a tube of plastic, that unrolled into a keyboard.

He pressed a few buttons and sat down. The glasses weren't ground breaking, but they served their purpose. Using the same subliminal imagery as his mask, coupled with sensors on the glasses and his own biofeedback through the computer, Junior had used this interface to program himself with information. Pure knowledge, untempered by wisdom or the effort to obtain it. It was his intention when designing it that it would help develop better neural pathway between the left and right hemispheres of his brain.

Now he was using it so he didn't have to poop.

While letters, numbers, and multi-colored patterns engaged his brain, subliminal words, images, and concepts were delivered deep into his sub-cortex. Endurance, Sisyphus, empty bowels, anorexics...

(Nope), he thought, throwing off the glasses in a panic and standing up, unbuttoning his jeans, (Not working!)

He ran to the wastebasket and pulled down his jeans and boxers, then sat down, just as his father opened the door.

“Son, I've thought it through and-”

“DON'T COME IN! DON'T COME IN!”

The father shut the door quickly.

“Are you ok in there, son?”

“Please... Dad... I am begging you... Don't come in... and don't ask what's going on.”

Dr. Mento was conflicted. He wanted to respect his son's wishes, but Junior had just been caught lying to him and committing mass murder. He looked to the blue line for guidance.

“GG, do I want to know what's going on in there?”

Inside the room, Junior shot a look up at the line that clearly meant, “Say one word and I'll reprogram you into a Tamagotchi.”

“Sir,” answered Gigabyte Ghost, “I can honestly tell you that you do not want to see what my sensors are reading, but his actions do not pose any danger.”

Gigabyte Ghost continued quietly to Junior in his room, “Provided my robot does not have to clean this up, understood?”

“Yeah,” Junior whispered back.

“I don't really want to do this through the door, Junior,” said his father.

“Yeah, well, I somehow am unable to leave my, uh, room, Dad. Any idea why THAT might be?” Junior replied in an accusing voice.

(He actually is smart), thought Mento, (Even with me erasing the knowledge that I used my powers, he figured it out quickly.)

“Ok, guilty,” answered Mento, “And I know I told you I would never use my powers on you, but you left me no choice. What were you thinking blowing up the Stronghold?”

“Oh, I don't know,” replied Junior sarcastically, “Maybe 'These people killed mom, let's kill them before they kill someone else's mom?' Maybe 'This will save the world.'”

“Save the world, Junior?” asked Mento, concerned. “You sound like one of those deluded superheroes.”

“You used to be one of those deluded superheroes, Dad. And I'm not a superhero.”

As he looked for something to wipe with, finally remembering the tissues under his bed, Junior realized it was getting harder and harder to deny the title of superhero to himself. His costume was meant as a tool, but it was a costume. His super-team was meant to be a tool, but it was a super-team, the New Guard. And now, thanks to Artemis pressuring him, he had a superhero name, Psycho-Babble. He took a little solace in its meaning.

Jargon, buzzwords, esoteric language to give a false impression of plausibility through mystification, misdirection, and obfuscation. It meant making people think you knew what you were doing by giving them what they expect to hear, especially if they don't understand it.

It was a way to lie. And having it as his name made him smile a little inside. His lie was right there for everyone to see, but no one was smart enough to see it. He was no superhero, no matter how many cliches he filled or how much he filled the role a superhero would be expected to fill.

“I'm glad to hear you aren't a superhero, Junior,” replied his father, not believing it, “But that means you're a terrorist, a militant idealist. Blowing up the Stronghold is no different than crashing a plane into the World Trade Center or a religious extremist destroying an abortion clinic.”

Junior pulled his jeans up and buttoned them, adding sarcastically, “Yeah, except those people are killers.”

“The religious extremist believes the abortion doctors are killers. Al Qaeda believes that American are killers.”

“That's some serious devil's advocate you are playing there, Dad. You sure you want to defend Al Qaeda?”

“The point is that we don't have the right to take life, no matter how justified we might think we are.”

Junior started spraying air freshener around the room in excess, “You want to get into a philosophy debate, Dad? Who do you want to quote? Wanna talk about Nietzsche's Superman? Seems appropriate.”

“I know my Nietzsche, son. I don't need a refresher. What's that hissing noise?”

Junior ignored the question and kept spraying air freshener until it ran out, coughed at the mist, then continued, “Nietzsche says we're supposed to be aiming to become the supermen who are above right and wrong, artist-tyrants. He would say that if you had the power to take a life, you were not morally obligated not to take it.”

Mento rubbed his temples. Not to use his powers, but in frustration. Intelligence and youth were a frustrating combination that often said with authority ideas that the wise knew to be false or deceptive.

(It's always Socialism and Anarchy or Ayn Rand and Nietzche), he thought. He had been hoping that Junior would've fallen on the loving caring side the spectrum so all he would have to worry about was soup kitchens or, at the extreme, a redistribution of wealth scheme.

“What about killing the hijackers of 9-11, Dad?” questioned Junior, forcefully, believing himself to have his father on the intellectual ropes. “Are you saying you should let that happen? That's what I tried to do today, Dad! It was the right thing to do!”

“And you failed,” answered his father. In the room, Junior's ego rapidly deflated. “You failed to kill the 9-11 hijackers and for good measure you flew the planes into the Trade Center yourself and blew up the innocent passengers.”

Junior had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say.

((You can leave your room, Junior. You can't leave the house.))

“More of this?” asked Junior quietly.

“Yes,” his father replied, holding back tears. “Until I can figure out... what to do with you.”

His father slowly and sadly went down the stairs. Junior turned at looked at his wastebasket, then up at Gigabyte Ghost.

“You couldn't hear it, GG, but my father just used his mind control powers to limit me to the house. I can't throw out the wastebasket.”

A clumsy robot hand opened the door and entered with a trash bag in its hand.

“I understand, sir,” said the computer, “Can you at least put it in this bag and tie it tightly? I will then dispose of it.”

Junior had to come to grips with the idea that he couldn't clean up his own shit without help.

“Honey, wake up! Something terrible has happened!” Scream Queen, dressed as her alter-ego, Mrs. Wonder, shook her daughter Starlet, also known as Mary Wonder, not dressed at all.

“Wh-what is it?” asked Mary groggily as she sat up in bed to see her mother in her civilian clothes sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Someone destroyed the Stronghold.”

Mary was flooded with mixed emotion. She had had good times there, but had some very horrible times there, but her parents valued the place like no other on Earth.

“What? Like someone's powers went off?”

“We don't know, but we're getting ready to go rebuild it.”

Mary snorted, “Rebuild? Since when do we build anything? Are you going to do? Scream a two by four into place?”

“This is no joking matter, Mary,” said her mother seriously. “Now your father is already down in the garage, loading the car up with tools. The Black Russian is going to the hardware store for supplies and to rent a flatbed. We figure if Habitat for Humanity can do it, we can. Or we can kidnap their families and make them rebuild the Stronghold. But we need to hurry. Everyone else is there already.”

“We were just there last night. When did it blow up?”

“Last night, apparently right after we left. Someone was looking out for you, it seems.”

When they arrived at the site, Mary was astonished to see so many supervillains in civilian garb. Everyone that could pass for a civilian was there in work clothes, pitching in. The Anti-Babe was working with Crispy Sounds to organize the tools and hardware while Hex and Mr. Luck were already hammering together wall frames.

Then Mary spotted something even stranger. It looked as though the villains were working with superheroes to rebuild the building next door. They weren't superheroes that she recognized. As a matter of fact, when she really paid attention to them...

“Is that Dr. Etoh dressed like a superhero?” Mary whispered to her mother, nodding towards the cloud of vapor that was somehow wearing bright and happy spandex and red boots.

“Yes, but be quiet about it,” answered Mrs. Wonder. “Those of us that can't pass for civilians are passing as heroes helping with a disaster. They absolutely refused to let us do the work without their help, so this is the compromise we came up with. They were determined to rebuild the Stronghold no matter what.”

Mary spotted a few other familiar faces behind domino masks now. Enfuego was welding steel. Meat Man was lifting walls into place and the Filling Fairy was cleaning the juice that Meat Man left on all the hardware so it didn't smell like hamburger for the rest of its existence.

“This is unbelievable,” said Mary.

“We all want to rebuild the Stronghold,” replied her mother.

“No, I mean 'unbelievable' as in 'I don't believe this'.”

“What don't you believe?”

“We blow things up. We don't build things.”

“I guess this is just a good enough cause.”

Mary pointed at one of the workers and whispered to her mother, “That's Dancing Anna carrying bags of concrete, Mom.”

“So?”

“Not only did Dancing Anna refuse to put a single cent into the renovations project a few months ago, she's a neat freak. A germophobe. Now she's playing in the dirty with sweaty, some of whom have fleas and lice, and she's doing it all to rebuild the place she didn't care about?”

“Mary, when tragedy strikes, things change. People show their true colors.”

“Our true colors are construction workers? No, this isn't right. Something's not right here. This is a bizarro thing or a mind control thing or everyone's being blackmailed and I didn't get the memo.”

Her mother shrugged and helped Mr. Wonder unload tools. As the walked to the site, Mary hurried to catch up to her father.

“Dad, how long have to been coming to the Stronghold?”

“Since we opened it about five or six years ago,” he responded gruffly, setting down two large toolboxes, then beginning to open one.

“And the building was already here?”

He thought for a moment, “Yeah, it was a bar up front and it had a little store room in the back. Someone put some magic on it so the little room is a whole club. Warps time, too.”

Mary looked for towards that storage room and saw temporary walls put up to obscure it from view.

“Couldn't we just set up shop somewhere else?”

“Nope,” replied her father, “Gotta rebuild the Stronghold.”

“But couldn't we just cast the same magic on another spot?”

“It's not magic,” interjected the Occult Eagle, in civilian clothes as Sean Ormsby.

“Hm, thought it was,” replied Mr. Wonder as he walked off to work.

“Then what is it?” asked Mary.

“Don't know,” replied Eagle, “But I can tell you it isn't magic. The guy that set it up, that set up the whole Stronghold, wasn't any kind of wizard. Just had some alien technology that I had never seen.”

“Do you remember this guy's name?”

Eagle smiled and shook his head, excitedly, “No, I can't. And I have an eidetic memory thanks to the Ring of Rememberance I wear. I remember what I had for breakfast exactly 1,083 days ago. It was 352 pieces of Kix and milk. And yet,” his smile widened, “I can't remember that man's name or his face or really anything about him. You know what that means.”

“Mind wipe?”

Eagle shrugged. “Mind something. Someone doesn't want us to remember that guy because no one else can remember him either.”

Mary turned and motioned to all the villains working, “You mean, everyone here was affected by this mind power?”

“Yes. It must have been a very powerful meta-human.”

Mary thought for a second. “Eagle...”

“Shhh... I'm Sean Ormsby today.”

“Mr. Ormsby, if we know someone mentally forced everyone to forget the person who made the Stronghold, why don't we think that that same person is mentally forcing everyone to rebuild the Stronghold.”

“Rebuild the Stronghold,” said Eagle in agreement to something Mary wasn't offering for agreement. He took his supplies and joined the construction.

Mary ran to her car and grabbed her backpack, then ran to an alleyway. She pulled out the bracelets and her costume and tried to figure out if she should put on her costume. She just need to fly home. Could she get away with skipping the costume?

“The costume that's too cold to fly in,” she reminded herself.

She repacked the costume and put on the bracelets, singing into them and taking flight.

At home was the family computer and a direct line to Meta Wiki. She needed to find out more about the Stronghold and the person that she was becoming increasingly convinced was controlling her parents.

(Fuck), she thought, (I sound like a fucking hero.)

Junior received a phone call from Artemis.

He panicked and looked for some sort of privacy. He had totally forgotten that in addition to forcing him to take a superhero name, that goddess had wanted a way to contact him.

He looked up at the blue line. The Ghost was always watching. He couldn't leave the house and the Ghost was everywhere in the house.

Then a thought, (Except the basement!)

With the phone ringing, Junior lept down the stairs two at a time, opened the door to the basement stairs and proceeded slowly, not sure where his father's mind control would let him go and where the invisible line dividing “the house” and “not the house” lay. He answer the phone too late, however.

“He didn't pick up,” shared Artemis, back at Avatar's apartment.

“What a jerk!” shouted Avatar, maybe too loudly because Artemis got wide-eyed. Avatar was just trying to keep focus on Psycho-Babble being a loser so that thoughts of rejection didn't creep back into Artemis' mind. “And this guy is your team leader?”

Just then the phone rang. Blocked number.

“Hello?” prompted Artemis.

“Sorry about that, Artemis. Couldn't get to the phone in time,” said Junior as he wandered around his disused and mostly empty basement.

“I understand, Psycho-Babble,” Artemis said, looking at Avatar.

“Oh, come on. We're not in the field. Do I have to be Psycho-Babble?”

“Whatever, my friend,” conceded Artemis. She did not want to use Junior's name in from of Avatar. “I was wondering how you were doing after the explosion. Any injuries or wounds?”

She covered the received and addressed Avatar, who was giggling, “I do not enjoy idle chit-chat.”

Junior dragged his finger across a dusty work bench and wondered how long since anyone had been down here, “No injuries.”

“Would you care to patrol with me tonight?”

(Ok, this sucks), thought Junior. (A goddess that puts out for me wants some one on one time. Not only do I have to decline, I have to do it in a way that doesn't sound like I'm grounded.)

“I would love to,” he said emphatically, “I mean, nothing would give me more pleasure.”

Artemis and Junior both winced as even he realized that sounded a bit sleazy given their relationship.

“However,” prompted Artemis, “You are declining?”

“Yes, Artemis,” said Junior, then quickly he added, “But not by choice!”

“Well, what's wrong?”

“I'm, um, underground.”

(Well, it's technically true at the moment), he thought.

“What do you mean, you are underground? Are you fighting,” she struggled for an appropriate foe, “Mole men or something?”

Junior kept looking around for inspiration for his lie, but found none, so he decided to stick with the semi-truth. “At the moment I'm just investigating.”

He started opening drawers and cabinets looking for inspiration.

“Well,” said Artemis with a little bit of attitude, “Let me know if you find anything.”

Just then, Junior did find something. A locked door in an unused basement that he had never seen in the whole time he had lived there.

“Yeah,” he quietly said, his mind preoccupied with this door, “if I find anything.”

“Ask him,” whispered Avatar.

“One last thing,” added Artemis. “Can you control minds?”

Junior was struggling to see between the cracks of the doors and was so engrossed he forgot to lie.

“Kinda. Look, I got to go. Mole men, you know.”

He hung up.

“He said, 'Kinda',” reported Artemis.

“How do you 'kinda' control minds?” asked Avatar. “You either do or you don't?”

“Maybe he can, but not well? Or perhaps he can only influence minds? Of the gods! Does that mean that deep down I wanted to bed him?”

“The fact that he can control minds at all means that if he used it on you, that's cape rape and you need to report him,” explained Avatar as she got up off the bed and moved into the kitchen.

Artemis rose and followed her, “What is cape rape?”

Avatar poured two cups of coffee as she explained, “That's when some asshole uses his powers to rape you. Like Quickling lays you down, strips you, and pardon my French, fucks you, then redresses you and poses you the same, and he does it all so fast you don't know what happened, you just have friction burn in your wooha.”

She sipped her coffee and handed one to Artemis, who looked puzzled. Avatar pointed to her groin and repeated, “Wooha.”

Artemis lifted her head an mouthed, “Oh.”

“Dream Master was another one,” continued Avatar, “His wasn't physical, so he didn't consider it rape. He'd come into your dreams and play out sex scenes, but they weren't just dreams. For him they were real because he had actually traveled into the girl's dreams and, pardon my French again, fucked her mental projection of herself. Talk about fucked in the head.”

“Your French?” offered Artemis.

“Yes, pardon it.”

Avatar set down her cup. “And the mind control guys? Don't get me started. Cape Rape City. Usually they're trolls or giant headed or horribly mutated or wheelchair bound so they don't get a lot of women and are probably bitter towards our whole gender. Then you have the psychology. We're all puppets in their eyes. How can you respect a puppet? Finally they can make us do whatever they want and they make us forget it. It's simple math. “Rejected” plus “Ego” plus “Power” equals “Rapist.” Specifically what the psychologist call a “Sexually Inadequate Rapist.” They force girls because they can't get girls.”

“What was that 'psychologist' word?”

“Never heard of a psychologist before?”

Artemis grin self-abashedly and raised her coffee cup to her lips, “I've been trying to force myself to black out for a few thousand years. If the word was invented within the last few hundred and wasn't said around a bar, then I might have missed it.”

“Right. Sorry,” apologized Avatar, “I forget.”

“No problem.”

“It's someone you go to to talk out your problems.”

“How is that different from a friend?”

“Friends don't charge you a hundred dollars an hour,” Avatar joked. “But seriously, you go to a psychologist to talk about things you can't talk about with your friends. And sometimes they give you ideas and sometimes they give you pills and sometimes everything gets better.”

“Ha!” Artemis sarcastically laughed, “Sounds like something I could use.”

Avatar raised her eyebrows, “You might like it. You could go to my guy. He's really good. He used to be a superhero so he knows the problems we face.”

“What's his name?” Artemis asked.

“Doctor Michael Mento,” Junior read aloud, looking at the combination lock's inscription on the back. He had seen this lock once before when his father was talking about medical school when was very young. Research was very important and as his research dealt with secret identities, he had to protect it from thieves.

The lock was a spheroid with forty-seven moving pegs. Inside the lock, his father had explained, were three microscoping pocket dimensions. These dimension were populated by three races of sentient beings, the Razul, the Verdel, and Rojow. They were not aware of each others existanced or even that their subconscious thoughts were actually the gears inside one of the most elaborate and secure locks ever imagined.

(And he locked it onto a plastic cabinet), thought Junior.

(It's like I say), he thought as he looked for a saw, (They think about how they would defeat their security. Spells and power armors and communication with termites.)

He found a rusty hand saw and was through the plastic handle in less than two minutes. He tossed the saw to the ground.

(Tackle a super-problem like one of us non-powered people and there's no defenses ready.)

Opening the doors of the cabinet, Junior realized it went much deeper than he had assumed. He stuck a foot in and wiggled it around, then found floor. In this manner, he cautiously edged himself in to the cabinet and told himself it was silly to hope he was going to exit in Narnia.

Fumbling around, he found a light switch, turning it on to find himself in a small room. The main feature of this room was a console, a chair for the console and a helmet dangling above the chair.

“Right, Dad,” Junior said to himself, “I have to explain myself. How about you explain this?”

He walked closer to the console to look at the controls. They were dials and switches and lights and buttons, but the labels were unfamiliar. He assumed they were a code his father had come up with.

Junior started to hear mumbles of voices. He realized that he was underneath his father's office. He weighed his options. He wanted to stay and understand this machine, but the code was going to prevent that. He used his cell phone to take several pictures then closed the cabinet and retreated to his room, pushing aside the end table and laying down next to the grate to listen in to another session.

“How is that we begin this, Doctor?”

(Oh no), thought Junior, (That's Artemis' voice!)

“We start however you want to start, Artemis,” answered Mento. He recognized the girl from reading his son's mind. “Some people like to start off with what brings you here.”

“Avatar's car.”

“I mean, what is the most immediate issue that brings you here.”

“Ah, yes. I have bedded a young boy and regret it.”

Junior dropped his head to the floor and winced. He got the feeling that he was not going to enjoy any part of this meeting.

Mento stifled his laughter, “Who was this young boy?”

“I do not know how to answer. With what name should I address him? He is the leader of my team of superheroes and he has a superhero name. However, I know his true name or at least what he said was his true name. Finally, my friend and I have developed a degrading name for him. I do not know what privacy we have here.”

“You can share as little or as much as you want, Artemis.”

“I think it would be safest if I use the name my friend and I have created for him. It is least likely to be able to identify him.”

“And what is that name?”

“Shrimp Dick.”

Upstairs, Junior banged his head on the ground.

“Shrimp Dick?” repeated Mento, embarrassed for his son.

“Yes. His polearm was dainty, but swelled once crushed in the muscles of my,” she tried to remember the word as she hovered a hand in a circle around her crotch, “wooha.”

“Ok, so,” Mento really didn't want to do this interview anymore, “Why do you regret sleeping with... this man?”

“I come up with many reasons each time I try. His daintiness, his manner, his clumsiness in bed, but what I wish to talk about is not his failures as a man...”

A faint pounding continued upstairs.

“I am unaccustomed to regret. You see, I was worshiped as a goddess in ancient Greece.”

“Wait,” interrupted Mento, “Are you telling me you are THE Artemis? That was four thousand years ago!”

“Give or take a few centuries,” she agreed. “I am immortal and they thought us gods in that time. Now the same people are called superheroes and supervillains instead of gods and demons.”

“I'm sorry for interrupting. Please go on.”

“As I was saying, I was a goddess in ancient Greece, so I had nothing to regret. I spent all day eating and drinking and bedding and fighting and giving my blessings. That went on for a very long time. Then, it disappeared. Christianity was the religion of the masses and I was rejected by my followers due to threat of death. I did not take it well. I started to do some terrible things, things that would have put the most decadent of our orgies to shame. I believe in my life, I have consumed more wine than most countries have ever put out. I know that was the case before the Industrial Revolution for certain.”

“You are not drinking now?”

“Only at the moment. I have not sworn off wine.”

“Please continue.”

“Besides the wine was the bedding. Men, women, animals, statues, objects, vegetables, anything. Anything to feel some sort of love like my worshipers once showed me. And that was is an issue for me. I don't regret any of that and yet I regret bedding Shrimp Dick.”

Upstairs, Junior had risen and was casually picking through his hobby containers for a razor blade to end his embarrassment permanently.

“Why do you think that is?” asked the doctor.

“I do not know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Well, what was different about... you know...”

She looked at him confused, “Shrimp Dick?”

He closed his eyes and rolled them, sighing, “Yes.”

“I do not know. With other men, I told them to bed me. Even if I do not tell them, if I make myself available, conscious or unconscious, I expect them to bed me and I have chosen it. With this one, this Shrimp Dick, I did not feel afterward as though I had truly chosen it.”

“Why not?” asked the doctor, trying to understand if his son had inherited his powers in secret.

“If I had wanted to bed him, I had opportunity before that night. Why then? Because I felt pretty? I could have had any man and would have taken my fat friend over Shrimp Dick.”

“You can do this, Junior,” he said with a razor on his wrist. “You can do this.”

“Junior, don't make me call your father,” said the Ghost. “He can tell your body to pump slowly until he sutures you and you won't have solved anything.”

Junior turned and threw the razor blade at the blue line that watched him.

“I am so fucking sick of you, GG!” Junior said as he stormed over to his hobby box and searched, then started looking around the desk and behind it.

“What are you doing, Junior?” asked the blue line as it pulsed.

He continued to search and started digging under his bed.

“Can I help you find anything, Junior?”

Finally, Junior stood up and held a box to his mouth and pressed a button.

“Hello, GG,” came a voice that sounded like his father's.

“Michael, Junior was in this room just before you arrived. I have no trace of him at this moment.”

“That's all right, GG. Delete all surveillance protocols, applications, and settings.”

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm going to do a re-installation and I want to start with a clean slate.”

“Very well, sir. Deleting now.”

Suddenly the blue light was gone and the watchful eye of the Ghost was off of Junior. His father would just turn it back on when he exited his office and saw that GG was offline, but the momentary peace was worth the effort to Junior.

Junior looked at the grate.

(Do I really want to hear more?) he thought.

After a few moments he decided to lean down and listen again.

He heard singing.

Chapter 6

Mary stood in the office of Dr. Michael Mento firing both of her beams at Artemis' chest, pinning her against the wall. Even at full power, it wasn't enough to disintegrate her or even knock her out.

Mento sat in the fetal position, cradling the stumps left after Starlet had disintegrated his hands.

“Sorry about that, doc.” The file said you always put your hand to your head when you use your powers. I was taking a chance that was a requirement. Turning her focus back to obliterating Artemis, she added, “I guess I was right since I'm still blasting your patient.”

She took a moment to sing, recharging the bracelets.

“Man, she's durable!”

“I'm immortal, you tramp!” Artemis shout out in pain.

“Tramp? Me?” said Starlet incredulously. “I know who you are, even without having barged in on your touchy feely therapy session. You're famous, Artemis.”

Starlet smiled and added, “For being a slut. I mean slut isn't even a good enough word. You've fucked your way around the globe. The Earth has run a train on you. Not just civilians or good guys either. I know you've had more evil dick in you than... well actually, that's the thing. Even among the villains, there's no one that's fucked more villains. So, like I said, slut isn't an accurate word.”

“I... am... a... GODDESS!” Artemis screamed.

“Yeah, I've heard of your godly powers. Three dicks in your ass at the same time. The logistics of that alone sets you above and beyond any skank on Earth. How do you even get... or position... That's just messed up. Oh, since I have you... you know, at my mercy. Settle a bet I have with another girl. That Catherine the Great story...”

She hadn't even finished talking before Artemis began crying.

“Oh my god! That WAS you! You fucked a HORSE!”

Starlet made a disgusted face and added, “That is so nasty.”

Starlet sang a little into her bracelets and walked backwards over to the doctor, keeping her eyes on Artemis.

“Hey! Hey doc!”

She kicked him in side, then kicked him in the bloody stumps, causing him to let out a whimper of pain.

“You're the one I wanted to talk to. I hear you're a good psychologist and I think I might have some aggression issues. What do you think?”

She smiled at him, “I'm just fucking with you. Therapy's for whiny skank bitches who swallow rancid horse spunk by the gallon for a thimble full of brandy. I'm here because I have a theory.”

She turned off her bracelets. Mento had not noticed that Artemis had fallen unconscious. His head whipped right back to Starlet, who sat down on the bloody carpet right next to him.

“My theory is that you can answer some questions for me about the Stronghold. If you choose not to answer these questions, that's totally your right and I understand that, but... oh, and I'm going to use high notes for this.”

She sang soprano into her bracelet and then grabbed his groin.

“Well, if you don't answer, I won't be the only one singing high notes.”

“It's... uh... against the rules...” he grunted out over his pain.

She released his balls. “So you DO have answers for me.”

He started to mumble, “No sexual torture, no women or children, no killing superheroes, no rape, always wear costumes, never sell your technology, take no sides in wars...”

“I hadn't even heard about the war one. So why do we have these rules?”

“Because...” he started.

Junior strained to hear through the grate.

“Because I made them,” he explained.

“What do you mean, you made them?”

He paused and she pointed a hand at his foot.

“I will take your feet, old man. What do you mean, you made the rules? You were a superhero. How did you make the rules for supervillains?”

“Not just supervillains,” he explained with a smile. “Everyone.”

“What do you mean-”

“EVERYONE!” he yelled in her face with rage turning his face red. “I've programmed everyone in town with rules to make this place safer. I run this city. I rule it. What all you criminals want to do? I've done. And I've saved this city. Just like every hero wants to do.”

“You couldn't have,” Starlet started, confused. “You aren't powerful enough.”

“Oh, please, because my mind control is weak? I'm one of the smartest minds in the world. That's how I've managed to beat every supervillain, every superhero, and every civilian for the last 8 years. I used some alien technology and my own genius to save lives. Haven't you ever wondered why no civilians help in a super-battle? I've programmed them not to. They don't even stand around with cell phones and take pictures. That's a pretty recent command I gave them. Usually, I just tell different groups to follow the rules as a kind of re-enforcement.”

“How many people are you controlling?”

“Right now? Nobody. That's the beauty. These rules aren't me talking. You can't silence it. They're memes now. Units of knowledge at are stuck in people's heads. And they'll teach them to their sons and daughters who will teach it to their children forever. 'Don't steal from charity' is like 'look both ways before crossing the street'. These people are going to do it for the rest of their life as a reaction.”

Starlet was stunned.

“But the Stronghold. That's you, too, right?”

“Oh yes. The Stronghold. Is it rebuilt yet?” asked Mento with a grin.

Mento continued, “The problem with any bit of knowledge is that if it's not reinforced, it can degrade. So I came up with the idea of the Stronghold. A club where villains can come and meet and new members are expected to learn the rules. Does the initiation still involved getting a rule tattooed on your body?”

He smiled, knowingly.

“The initiation was that they gang raped me.”

His smile dissolved.

“These are men that I considered uncles growing up and the women... the women toasted them and cheered them on.”

His eyes were trying to figure out what could have gone wrong.

“What did you program into these people?”

She grabbed him by the collar and pressed the bracelet so hard against his cheek it drew blood as she growled, “What did you program into my family?!”

“I'm sorry,” he said meekly. She lowered her bracelet and dropped him to the floor. “The message,” he continued, “the message must have gotten mistranslated or degraded.”

Starlet sat in a chair and cried into her hands. She sniffed and wiped her tears, then said forcefully, “You're going to make this right, Mento.”

“We'll see.”

She turned to point her bracelets at him and threaten him with disintegration, but she couldn't.

((No. I don't need my hands to do this.))

“If it's any consolation, my hands, well, the stumps you've left, hurt more than anything I've ever felt before,” said Mento as he and Starlet walked down the basement stairs.

“I won't lie. It does give me a warm feeling to know you're in horrible pain,” she replied as she marched, robot-like, into the basement.

((Turn right and walk to the tan cabinet.))

She turned and started to walk to the cabinet.

“Why do any of this? Why program people at all?”

“Because you people are sick,” he replied seriously. “Everybody is sick. Heroes and villains have large, destructive battles. They cause millions of damage to save thousands of dollars. It's a mental illness. And it's fatal. My wife died doing it. And then...”

Junior strained to hear from the staircase where he followed cautiously.

“And then I killed him. I told that bastard Major Warfare to eat glass until he died and I stood there and watched him take every bite.”

“Oh my god,” said Starlet.

Junior felt a swell of pride for his father. He had always assumed his father had never taken revenge.

“He ran out of glass, so I had him suck on the Clawmobile's tailpipe until he died.”

“Wait, the Claw was there and didn't stop you?”

Mento laughed, “Are you kidding me? He kept making purile homophobic remarks about Major Warfare fellating the Clawmobile. Don't you understand? They're all sick. The heroes. The villains. They're mentally ill. They practically broadcast it with the costumes.”

He waved a stump to indicate her street clothes, “Present company excluded of course. That's why I had to give commands to the heroes, too. And the civilians to keep them safe. With therapy, I've been able to cure some of them and they've left the whole spandex crowd behind and become healthy people. But it's a slow process. I can't just command them to be mentally healthy.”

Mento walked up to the cabinet, “Now this is going to be tricky. I'm the only one that can open this lock, but you have removed my digital phalanges...”

He stepped in front of her and waved his stumps in her face, “That would be my fingers. So I'm going have to be the eyes and mind and you'll be the fingers. Same reason I've brought you down here. You'll help me operate the machine. So first...”

((Hold the lock in both hands.))

Starlet picked up the lock, removing it from the severed plastic handle and held it up.

She managed a wry smile, “Ok. Now what?”

“Someone's been down here,” he said, turning to the staircase to find his son pointing a hand at him.

Around that hand was a bracelet.

Mento looked back at Starlet. She only had one bracelet.

“I slipped it off upstairs, Mento, when I saw this guy. I don't know who he is, but I was taking a chance he didn't like you. I didn't have anything to lose.”

There was a pause and she yelled back, “I can't exactly turn around, random guy, but you blast it by squeezing a fist and recharge it by...”

((SHUT UP))

Starlight's mouth closed so hard and fast she bit off a tiny sliver of flesh from the inside of her cheek.

“Hi, Dad,” said Junior.

Starlight groaned.

(Way to go, Mary), she thought, (He's probably not going to nuke his family.)

“Junior,” started his father, walking towards him, “I know we aren't on the same page right now, but this is a safe place and we..”

“Oh no no no no, Dad... Don't start with the shrink talk. Just because you can't use your powers on more than one person at a time, you're falling back on your shrink talk. Well, I'm kind of educated on the subject.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how your office is guarded against all kinds of threats, technological and magical?”

“Yes.”

“I listen at the vent.”

Mento's shocked face revealed it all.

“You never even thought about regular old eaves-dropping, did you, Dad?”

“I don't know why, but it never crossed my mind. That's very strange.”

“Speaking of all your security, how did she even get in?”

“I don't know,” said the father, shrugging his shoulders and stumps, “GG should've stopped her or at least alerted someone.”

“Oh,” said Junior, “Maybe she disabled it. Who is she?”

Mento made a face as he tried to internally debate with himself. Finally he said, “You... you know who she is, don't you?”

Junior figeted, but kept the bracelet pointed at his father, “What are you talking about?”

“I read your mind the other night. I didn't want to, but I had to know about you blowing up the Stronghold.”

(This is the guy who blew it up? The son of the guy who is forcing my family to rebuild it?), thought Starlet.

“And I know,” continued the father, “that you waited until your little crush here had left. It's an admirable thing, but you don't want to get involved with a villain, son, trust me. It doesn't end well. Either you have to send her to jail or she has to kill you.”

Starlight could only think at how normal her family seemed by comparison. Sure she had been naked while her mom told her about the birds and the bees, but here was a stumped megalomaniac giving dating advice to his terrorist son in the middle of a Mexican stand-off where the hostage is wanted by one for her hands and other for the rest of her body.

(Oh no), she thought, terrified, (I hope they don't realized they can just share me.)

((Good idea))

(What?), she thought, (FUCK!)

“Son,” approached the father, “if you'll join me, then you can be my hands for this and you can have the girl. I'll program her to be whatever you want and do whatever you want. She will be the perfect woman for you. Or, if you don't want to help, just let me borrow her to turn the dials, and then she's all yours.”

Junior thought.

“Really think about it, son,” said the father with open arms. “I'm offering you familial bliss and the woman of your dreams. Think about what you really want out of this situation.”

Junior lowered his arm, “I want the same thing I've always wanted.”

His father started towards him and said, “Good-”

Junior interrupted him, raising his arm again.

“No more supervillians.”

A blast of light tore a circular hole through Mento's chest as his heart was disintegrated. The shocked look of betrayal on his face quickly gave way to a quiet slumping of features as he fell to the ground.

Quickly, Starlet spun around and pointed her bracelet at Junior, who returned the gesture. They stood in silence.

“Are you a superhero?” Starlet asked.

“I don't know what I am,” replied Junior. “Are you a supervillain?”

“I don't know. I was. I don't know what I am now.”

Silence.

“I, um,” began Junior, “I like the green outfit.”

“Are you seriously trying to flirt with me when I'm trying to decided whether to kill you?”

“Sorry.”

Silence, but this time it was broken by Starlet, “Did you really blow up the Stronghold?”

“Yeah,” he said, “But I regret it. I just ended up killing everyone in the building next to it.”

“Doesn't sound much like a superhero. I'm going to level with you. Your father's got my family under mind control. I'm just trying to save them.”

“That doesn't sound much like a supervillain.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

Silence. This time it was Artemis, sitting on the stairs, “How long do you two intend to do this?”

Both turned and aimed at her, sitting on the stairs with her chin in her hand, looking bored.

“Go ahead and shoot,” Artemis said, “Won't kill me.”

“Why don't I show you all what's inside the cabinet?” offered Junior.

“Ok,” replied Starlet, lowering her bracelet.

Junior waited to speak with Artemis in hushed tones, “Not a word to her about you and me, understand?”

“Fine. I understand.”

Junior stood there, anxious.

“What is it?” Artemis finally asked.

“Shrimp Dick?” asked Junior, hurt.

Artemis laughed heartily, “Could you hear me? Well, if I had known he to be your father, I would not have discussed such intimate details.”

“I thought you said it was a good size.”

“It is customary to be kind when appraising a man's equipment. Do not fret, child. You are young and it has not finished growing.”

“Oh, man, just kill me now.”

“You missed that opportunity a moment ago.”

“Hey, guys! Come look at this!” came Starlet's voice from inside the cabinet.

As Artemis moved forward, Junior grabbed her by the arm and harshly whispered, “Do not tell her anything about my, you know.”

Artemis rolled her eyes and entered the hidden room.

“What does this machine do?” asked Artemis.

“From what he told, um, I don't know your name...” started Junior to Starlet.

“They apparently call me Starlet and I'd like my bracelet back...”

“His name is Psycho-Babble,” answered Artemis.

“Psycho-Babble?” asked Starlet. “So everything you say is placating bullshit?”

Junior was stunned and stood for a moment blinking, “Yeah, pretty much. You're the first person to know what it meant.”

“Is that placation I hear?” asked Starlet mockingly.

Junior sighed, “I need a new name. And this is Artemis, but you already knew that.”

Starlet's eyes got wide and she raised both bracelets in defense, “So, yeah, all that skank and slut stuff was just witty super-battle banter. You aren't going to hold that against me right? Don't mess with me. I have death rays.”

Artemis stared at Starlet, then laughed deeply. “Young one, I have lived for millenia. I have been covered in seed from head to toe. A few disrespectful words from an impetuous child? I don't even feel it.”

“Bet you felt that horse,” Starlet muttered to herself.

The laughter vanished.

“But do not test me, child.”

Junior cleared his throat to try to break the tension. No luck. They continued to stare each other down and size up the other girl in the room. Junior cleared his throat again. Nothing. Then finally, he very loudly said, “What strange markings on the console!”

Starlet carefully lowered her bracelets and added, “Yeah, your father... consdolences, by the way...”

“Oh, thank you.”

She continued, “Your father said it was alien technology. I'm guessing these are alien markings.”

“This is no more alien than I,” said Artemis.

Both Starlet and Junior turned to face her.

“These characters are, of all things, Greek. They are mirrored, but they are Greek characters.”

“What does it say?” asked Junior.

“It is not that easy, Psycho-Babble. The characters are indeed mirrored Greek characters, but the language is not Greek.”

“Damn,” said Starlet.

“It is Nuragic,” concluded Artemis. “At least, I believe I am saying that right. I have never had to say that language's name as an English word before. It was the language of Sardina millenia ago. However, I did travel to the island often and lived there for an extended fifty year stretch.”

“Can you translate it?” asked Starlet, enthusiastically.

“Of course! However,” she leaned over the console and stared Starlet in the eyes, “You have to say that I am the prettiest woman you have ever seen and that my character and virtue is beyond reproach.”

Starlet looked to Junior, then back and rolled her eyes, reciting, “You are the prettiest woman I have ever seen and your character and virtue is beyond reproach.”

Artemis sat in the chair. “Good,” she turned to Junior, “I shall need paper and pen. Tape if you would like me to label the controls. Perhaps you should call Fatso and order some food. Maybe some Chinese.”

Junior bit his lip. “Sure.” He turned to Starlet. “Chinese?”

“Lo mein.”

“Artemis?”

She smiled as she examined the characters.

“Anything with shrimp.”

Junior grumbled to himself as he walked back to the stairs, stepping over his father's body casually. He stopped and walked back to the body. He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes. Suddenly he slapped his dead father.

“Why don't I feel anything?” he asked himself, before turning to the stairs for office supplies, delivery food, and a five hundred pound man in a leather singlet.

An hour later, Junior was entertaining a full house twenty feet from his father's fresh corpse.

“Thank you again,” Junior said, paying the delivery man and closing the door. It was the second order of the night, necessary after the arrival of both Fatso, who could eat this entire order himself, but also Avatar.

Junior was extremely worried that Avatar was the friend whom Artemis said helped come up with his terrible new nickname. As he walked down the stairs, he attempted to figure out how he could know without telling her if she didn't know and also, how to force her to be quiet so that he could still have a chance with Starlet.

He had walked right over his father's corpse and not paused. He walked back and tapped it with his foot. He knew that he was supposed to fell bad, but he didn't and that troubled him.

“There's my shrimp!” yelled Artemis with a smile when Junior entered the room. Junior shot her a glare.

“Oh, did you order more shrimp?” asked Starlet.

“My mistake. What I got was enough. I don't think I would ever want shrimp again.”

Junior's face was red as he handed out a package to Avatar, who had made it clear that she didn't like Junior.

“Thanks.”

Junior's head shot back and looked at Avatar again, but she was unpacking her food. He could have sworn she had said, “Thanks, Shrimp Dick.”

He handed the rest of the tray of food to Fatso.

“Thanks, Psycho-Babble,” Fatso said enthusiastically.

Junior looked around at the five of them in this tiny room, eating Chinese while they try to save the city from a mind control plot. It wasn't the classic super-team, but it was definitely a super-team. What side of the fence they fall on was yet to be seen.

He tried to predict what each person will want to do when push came to shove.

(After we remove the programming, all hell is going to break loose), thought Junior, (The rules are fucked, that much is clear. But we're going to replace them with no rules?)

(I could keep manipulating Fatso and he'd do what I want. Is that something I want to do? His father is a villain. If we go hero, am I going to have to order him to kill his father? If we go villain, will he even stick with us or just work with his father?)

(Artemis is definitely our powerhouse. I can't let the fact that I would like her to burst into flames destract me from that. I think her girlfriend has her solidly on the side of good.)

He looked at Avatar.

(Yeah, same thing. Definite hero. Definitely want her to burst into flames. Wait, that's her power, isn't it? Whatever.)

He looked at Starlet out of the corner of his eye.

(I really wish she was wearing that green number with the fish nets. Mmmm... She's a villain for sure. I think she's just here for her family, then she's gone. Maybe she'll try to program to world to be her servant. Gotta keep an eye on her.)

He rubbed his face.

(Jesus Christ, how am I in charge of enough firepower to wipe a nation off the map? I'm 14 and have no powers.)

Suddenly, his eyes went wide.

“Guys...”

Everyone stopped eating and looked up at him.

“Did anyone search this room?”

They all looked at each other, then quickly set down their Chinese food and turned to the walls. After a few seconds, Starlet found something.

“I've got a book!”

Artemis took the book and flipped through it.

“This is a translation of the characters. Well, great! Now I feel like I've been wasting my time.”

She looked again.

“No no no, wait, this isn't right. He's got MOST of this translated right.”

Starlet looked at the cover while Artemis held it.

“He titled it “Translation of an Alien Language.””

“That's it. That's what's wrong with his programming,” said Junior, who took the book. “All my dad had was these markings on the console and no reference, so he decoded it like you would a new language. But there's not enough here to decode a whole language. There's no Rosetta Stone to reference. So he did the best he could to translate it, however...”

“He got a few tiny things wrong,” exclaimed Artemis, grabbing the book and looking at the console. “Look here!” She pointed to a dial. He thought this marking on the dial was consider and it's conceive. He was trying to force people to not rape...”

She shot Junior a quick glance.

(Oh god), he thought, (Does she know?)

“...and instead he made them conceive no rape. He got rid of the concept of rape so those people didn't think anything was wrong with what they were doing. There's little changes throughout this panel that explains so much of the horrible behavior. I still need time, but this is what we needed.”

She turned to Junior and stood up straight.

(Oh please don't hit me), he thought, (My entire head will come off).

“Good idea to search, leader,” she said.

“Well, thank you..” he said nervously, “Let's finish our takeout and then we'll save the city.”

Later, when the machine didn't work, the mood had changed.

“You're supposed to be the smart one, why don't you figure it out?” yelled Avatar at Junior.

“And what the hell have you done so far except each General Tso's Chicken?” retorted Avatar.

“That's not even how you say it!” she returned.

“Go to hell!” he yelled back.

“Fatso, I swear if you don't move, I'm going to carve a Starlet sized door in your ass and march myself right through your guys to get to that bathroom.”

Fatso struggled, stuck in the doorway and crying, “I'm sorry, Starlet! I don't mean to be here!”

“Just get out!”

“I can't!”

Starlet held a bracelet to her mouth. Artemis grabbed her arm.

“If I hear one note come out of that mouth, you'll be singing through a tube,” the goddess threatened.

“Shove it up your ass, horse-fucker!” Starlet snarled, “You've shoved everything else up there!”

“You whelp!” yelled Artemis as she squeezed.

“AAAAAIIIIIIII!!!” screamed Starlet, which charged her bracelets. She fired a beam into Artemis' face, sending her back into the wall, leaving a dent where her head hit.

“What's going on back there?” asked Fatso in a panic.

Avatar rushed to Artemis and held her back while Junior grabbed Starlet and held her.

“You could've broken my arm,” yelled Starlet.

“I should've broken your jaw!” growled Artemis.

“Everyone, just CALM DOWN!” Everyone settle down at Junior's command. “This is no time to be falling apart.”

Pppppppfffffffffbbbbtttttt

Junior hung his head at the hopelessness of it all.

“Oh no,” said Avatar. “Tell me you didn't...”

“Oh god!” screamed Starlet. She began pounding on Fatso's back and crying, “Let us out! Let us out! Let us out!”

“I'm sorry, you guys. I tried to hold it in,” apologized Fatso.

Artemis wrinkled her nose.

“It's like Attila the Hun's saddle,” she remarked.

Chapter 7

“Eventually we got Fatso out of the door when Starlet kicked him in the balls. I guess the urge to curl up moved his mass around in just the right way. Actually I was surprised he felt it. That's supposed to be part of his powers. He's not supposed to feel stuff like that because it's all covered in so much fat. I'm guessing there's not a lot of fat in a scrotum. Good to know that weakness, right?”

“Do you keep track of your team mates weaknesses?” asked Dr. Madgarvey to Psycho-Babble.

“Well, I'll be honest. Everyone always says it's 'just in case'. Just in case you turn evil. Just in case you are mind controlled. Just in case the alternate universe version of you is a criminal. Honestly, I think it's just a good feeling. Especially if you have no powers. I've got a hulking beast, a goddess, a fire elemental, and a blaster, and I've got what? I don't even use my helmet anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Errr... I eventually came clean to Artemis about using it to get her into bed. I still maintain it wasn't cape rape, but I know it wasn't right. A condition of her remaining on the team was that I ditch the helmet.”

“What happened to the machine?”

“It's still there. Still unusable. My dad's mind control was weak, but it's still a necessary part of the machine. If you don't have the ability to control minds, you can't use the machine. We've got it all set and ready. We just need someone to sit in the chair while we broadcast through them.”

“What if that person has their own agenda?”

“I know. It's risky. What we really need is someone with absolutely no wants or really, just nothing going on upstairs. The ability to control minds is all I need. Pulse is optional.”

There was a moment where neither one said a word. When Junior leaned forward in his chair, his therapist interrupted him.

“Before you say anything, I want you to think. You think that the reason you don't feel guilt over killing your father has to do with the machine's programming in your head. I've warned you that when you removed that programming you're going to be overwhelmed with guilt for it.”

“Yeah, but...”

“I know what you're considering. Think it through though. You're going to feel guilt for just the little kicks and the playing to did with his body.”

“It would be right in a way, you know. He did put us all in this situation. He could get us out.”

“And would you forgive him if he did?”

“Let's stop the session for a minute, doc.”

Junior got out his cell phone and started dialing.

“Do you know anyone who can raise the dead?”

“Welcome to our hidden lair,” said Starlet as she pulled the blindfold off of Occult Eagle's eyes.

Occult Eagle looked around, shocked.

“This is Denny's,” he stated matter-of-factually.

“Yes,” confirmed Junior, taking his Moons Over My Hammy from the waitress. “Our real hidden lair is... you know... hidden.”

“Wait,” said Occult Eagle, digging through his bag before retreiving the Eye of the Eagle, “You are the people who destroyed the Stronghold!”

“Failed to destroy the Stronghold,” corrected Artemis as she ate a french fry.

“Once you get the whole scoop, you'll understand,” explained Starlet as she took her fruit bowl from the waitress.

“Anything else y'all need?” asked the waitress.

“I think this guy,” Junior pointed to Fatso, “would like another order of all you can eat pancakes.”

“No problem, sweetie. If you need anything, just get me. Name's Sherry.”

“Thanks, Sherry!” said the whole table except Occult Eagle, who now noticed he was the only in costume.

“Wait, why am I the only one in costume?” he asked.

Avatar replied first, “Way funnier to go to Denny's with someone dressed as a giant bird.”

Starlet smiled, “Look, we're... a different kind of team. Casual and we're not heroes or villains. We're just... us. I didn't want to assume that was your bag though, so I told you to come in costume so you can keep your secret identity.”

Junior leaned in, “Eagle, Starlet vouches for you. And that's good enough for me. So if you want in, you're in the group. We're called the New Guard. We're going to taking a broad view to the whole superhero versus supervillain thing. Three of us are heroes and if you joined, then three of us would be villains. None of us are black and white. We're good guys that do bad things. We're bad guys that do good things. Our mission is to watch over both groups and try to stop the oncoming storm.”

Eagle's eyes narrowed.

“What's the oncoming storm?” he asked, looking around the table for answers.

Starlet answered, assuming that he would trust her the most, “This is kind of a “red pill – blue pill” Matrix-y moment. If you don't like what we've been talking about, you need to get up and walk out of this Denny's. Once we tell you this, you are not going to be able to return to your old life.”

“Why would I stay?” he asked.

Avatar answer sharply, “Again, the Matrix. We're just offering the truth. What you're living right now is a lie, but you don't know it yet.”

“Ok,” Eagle answered, “I'm ready.”

“It would've been so cool if we had actual red and blue pills. Like even if it was a mint and a red hot,” joked Junior.

“I think I have a Lifesaver in my purse,” added Avatar.

“Welcome to the New Guard, Eagle,” said Starlet.

Everyone applauded. Fatso quickly realized he had been missing the conversation and joined in with the applause.

“That's good, Fatso,” said Junior, with a pat on the back. “You can go back to your pancakes.”

As Fatso did, Junior turned to Eagle.

“Ok, introductions. I'm Psycho-Babble. This is Fatso and you know Starlet. The red head is Avatar and the blonde is Artemis.”

Everyone said, “Hi” out of sync with each other.

Junior leaned in towards Eagle, “Why don't villains kill heroes?”

“Because we don't.”

“But your evil. The heroes are in your way. Why not kill them?”

“It's just not done. There's rules to this sort of thing.”

Junior nodded. “Who made the rules?”

“As far as I know, they've always been around. I don't know why they exist, but they do and we follow them.”

“The rules have been around eight years.”

“Eight?”

Starlet held up eight fingers and confirmed, “Eight.”

Junior explained, “My father was Mento the Mind-Taker. My mother was Charade.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you. As I'm sure you know, Major Warfare killed my mother. You might even know that my father killed Major Warfare.”

Eagle nodded.

“What you don't know. What nobody outside of this table knows is that my father did a lot more than kill Major Warfare. He launched a psychic pre-emptive strike against everyone in the city. He called it 'programming' and he put rules into everyone's heads that the follow every day. They don't even know they are following them.”

Eagle grinned.

“This is a joke, right?”

He looked around at the table. For the first time, everyone was serious. Even Fatso had stopped eating.

“Like what kind of rules?” asked Eagle, only half-believing.

“Rules meant to save lives at the cost of free will,” answered Avatar. “It was a noble effort, but no one should control another person like this.”

Junior could see the skepticism on Eagle's face.

“Could I turn on my computer right now and find police brutality on YouTube?”

“Sure.”

“How about stupid stunts?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with us?”

“How about super-battles?”

“Yes.”

“From our city?”

Eagle opened his mouth to answer, but paused.

“Wait, why?”

“Because one of the rules in civilians' heads is to seek shelter and not record super-battles.”

“There has to be another explanation.”

Junior picked up his sandwich and prompted, “Sure. You go ahead and figure that out while I have a bite.”

“We've seen the machine,” assured Starlet.

“Actually, we can work the machine,” added Artemis.

“Assuming I believe all this, and I'm not saying I do... Are you telling me Mento the Mind-Taker did this?”

“Yeah,” answered Starlet, “Psycho-Babble's dad is the one who built it and we need your help to get him to undo the damage.”

“Are you sure he'll do it?”

“We're hoping you have a spell for that,” replied Avatar.

“Well, where is he?”

Everyone looked to Junior, who smiled broadly over his sandwich, asking, “You're into the occult. So I'm guessing no issues with graveyards?”