It was Overlord standing next to the untouched sword still lodged in the floor.
Somehow he managed to teleport to the center of the room, past all the fighting. How? I couldn’t tell you.
“None of you deserve power… sniveling children! You were invited here to see if you had what it takes to unify and work together. And clearly none of you have the capacity to do so. You are hot headed, ignorant, short sighted, spoiled, and above all… you are brutes!”
The air was mighty uncomfortable, and that did nothing for the level of unease already present. Not a word was spoken and not a thought was found. Overlord was holding the sword, or more like it held him. His entire body was shaking, refusing to let go as he went on a manic rant.
“You all bring shame to those who came before you. There is no honor or camaraderie between us anymore… that's why they won! They won because of no loyalty, because they wanted it easy! GODSPEED… left us, none of you are worthy! He believed in a better America, no, a better world, not the nightmare they handed us on a gilded platter. Your ancestors weep. And now all of you are whores working for other whores who are the offspring of every prostitute this country worships!!!”
And he had even more to say until Smith interrupted, “Overlord: what color are the trees in autumn?”
He went rigid, straight as a board. Letting go of the sword he quietly walked back to his spot in the corner as everyone got out of his way in a hurry. His skullmet once pouring with phrases of madness and reprimand was now silenced. He didn’t move at all till the end of the meeting.
The main reason I became a Superhero was because of Godspeed. He saved me, when nobody else did. His heavenly white wings were so large and warm as they wrapped around me. I remember him carrying me back home through the clouds as happy tears poured from my eyes. He was a good person, despite what some may say. His smile was strong enough to make you forget about your shame and his golden light reached your soul making you feel like a kid again. I didn’t like talking about it because that was all I could remember; I was in danger, stuck in somewhere dark, and then one day he found me. The one person I told that story to called me a crazy bitch.
Smith then said in a bubbly tone, as if everything in the past five minutes didn't happen, “It is an honor to work with Overlord, and he is a great man. But he does get nostalgic, and a bit ahead of himself. So yeah, let's get back on track!”
One of the agents that managed to not run away when the fighting started started up the surprisingly intact projector, continuing the presentation. The film kept rolling, showing us more pictures of the Apostates, and even footage of the Supervillain team working together. Each of them had a distinct look from one another and with different powers. A real freak show. They had a sort of western sense of fashion: cowboy boots, bandanas, ponchos.
I took my time and put their faces (and muzzles) to memory:
Once again the man with the intense stare and mustache appeared, this time wearing a fancy red vest and black shiny cowboy boots, although the picture had him with a friendly smile and squinted eyes. The Chief was their leader: described as a malicious con man with the ability to sway others to do his bidding. One image showed clamps keeping his mouth open, his tongue was a shiny gray.
The wolf, Andre, is shown lifting up a police tank and throwing it at a helicopter, then roaring as it charged at the cameraman, the footage went dead as it opened its jaws. It was a government asset gone rogue, a former unit of a now terminated group of Quasi black ops. It was also the second-hand ‘man’ to The Chief and second toughest one of them all.
The most powerful one of them was a young quasi, a few years older than me, Inamorata. An escaped mental patient with the appearance of an orange furred humanoid cat, now wielding immense psychic power. We were shown people, mostly police officers and Heroes with their heads blown off, next to a photo of her as a child wearing a school uniform.
More of them were shown. Causing harm and mischief across different backdrops, towns, forests, and cities. A lot of them used guns for some strange reason, even the ones with powers. Every member was either formerly incarcerated or orphaned. Like Peter Pan and his lost felons.
One group of images however had someone familiar on it, although they weren't the main focus.
RatKing.
It was nighttime and he was standing further down the road covered in destroyed cop cars and corpses. The main thing you could tell about him was his mask, though his eyes did not glow. And most peculiar was the picture right next to it. There was a pale thin faced and unassuming man, though he could have been younger. His eyes were green and lively, his hair was short, and he wore brown dirty overalls. He had faint scars on the bridge of his nose and chin. Even if he wasn’t a quasi, he did kind of look like a rat.
Sir Blue asked before I could, “Who is that young man, Agent Smith?”
“Oh him? Yeah he’s another problem. That's RatKing… the new guy. Couldn’t find his face on any of our databases, no hospital records, schooling, family, or any evidence of him living in an orphanage. He made his debut with fire and brimstone a few months back before we even knew the Apostates were in the city. He robbed the Natural History Museum with another potential member, and since then he hadn’t been spotted till the bank robbery.” Smith then looked right at me, “Our friend Power-Jack here has already been acquainted with the devil. Must have been real scary fighting him, eh?”
I didn’t fight him, he ran away, avoiding me. His attire might have been threatening and mysterious but the face behind the mask matches his behavior more accurately. He was a coward. Maybe it was warranted, he was running with wolves after all, no pun intended. A non-quasi fighting against Superheroes and associating with Supervillains was dangerous, him not being confrontational during our encounter made a decent amount of sense. Still didn’t make me less mad.
“However the thing that concerns Uncle Sam the most about him is his use of Cauca Glass. It's in his tech, his weapons, and it is something to note that The Hero Bank of America had Cauca reserves, which could explain why they targeted it.”
Then everyone around me asked their questions and murmured behind my ear about what it was like to face such a Supervillain, I responded, “Hardly anything worth mentioning. It’s the wolf you all should worry about.”
After being so silent during the entirety of the meeting, Commissioner Oates finally piped in, yelling at me “It’s no surprise you of all people care so little for what that animal did! RatKing and his little helper robbed the museum, leaving thirty officers dead. He took one of the old machine guns on display and combined it with cauca! We weren’t ready for that kind of fire power. Reinforcements were called for all other law enforcement units, including various Hero agencies, and not one of you answered!”
I remembered that, it was all over the news, I even heard it on my scanner. But that was also the day that the apartment fell into the ocean, the same day that little girl drowned. The city held a mass memorial service in honor of those who died. For the cops I mean.
“Aha! That is the problem isn’t it? The Apostates are unique in that sense, they don’t kill just for money. Their actions are statements.” said Smith, shooting finger guns at the disgruntled group of cops.
Sir Blue then interjected, taking the words right out of my mouth, “With all due respect, Commissioner Oates, Agent Smith, the loss of human life is always a tragedy, but the fact is the call in that specific incident mentioned the attacker as a terrorist. Not a quasi or Supervillain. It wasn’t any surprise no one showed up because we assumed the NGPD was well equipped to deal with a human threat.”
Not wanting to stay quiet on the matter, I added with much fervor “Exactly! The only thing city hall decides to invest in New Geweld are its police. When was the last time any non-quasi criminal made headlines in this country? And why should we babysit crushers like you who sit on your asses and contribute nothing besides wasting our tax dollars on fancy military equipment to compensate for the fact y’all ain’t shit.” The Heroes all cheered in agreement.
Sir Blue also believed in what I said, murmuring admirably, “Not the most eloquent way of putting it but with this crowd it does the job very well, Power-Jack.”
Noble IX also had something to say, “That is the average city-dweller. Brash and unrefined. Why God gave her kind powers is a mystery.”
Someone new, a woman dressed in skin-tight magenta spandex with long purple pigtails that reached well below the bottom of her chunky boots said, “what we also can’t forget is the inherent inferiority of non-quasi. Why should us borderline demigods even associate with those mortals? Superheroes aren’t ordinary, quite the opposite, and wasting our time in working with these morons would be the mother of all handicaps. I say we forget about the rodents and focus on killing these Apostates on our own!”
Like hunters talking about their next big game hunt, the Heroes all talked about placing bets on who could kill an Apostate. Ten thousand dollars, fifty thousand, a hundred, and one person even placed a million for the head of The Chief. Not a single person placed any money down on RatKing.
Despite the amount of push back, Smith refuted, as she loudly proclaimed, “And that mentality is why the Apostates have survived for so long! What you think, they haven’t faced Heroes before? The Chief managed to bring together a ragtag group of outcasts from different walks of life, some with powers and some without, and aimed them at American society, the economy, and our laws. As of today your lot didn’t hunt them, they hunted you.” and in the midst of unease at the idea of Superheroes being hunted down, Noble IX blurts out, pulling back the hammer of his gun one last time, “Get to the point and tell us exactly what you plan, wench.”
Sweat dropped, heartbeats synced, and breathing slowed due to the heaviness of the air. Everyone waited in anticipation for Smith’s response. The agents with her had their hands ready to draw weapons from their holsters while sharing glances at each other and the exit. Her face no longer resembled that of a snake oil saleswoman; rather I saw a young woman trying to do a public speech about why flowers should be made illegal to a group of volatile florists armed with various weapons of mass destruction. The entire conference had been a rollercoaster of emotions, rising and falling tensions, the fighting and the shedding of blood, there couldn’t be anything worse that could happen. But based on everything the agent was telling us about the Apostates, RatKing and the police, AVIA, and various Superheroes being brought together in a single room, I figured whatever Smith would say next was going to get a lot of people killed quickly.
“We need to fight fire with fire. I am forming this nation's first ever federally-monitored Superhero team.”
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