Chapter 100 Obliged.

Chapter 100: 100 Obliged.

As we made our way up the rotting, splintered wooden steps of the shack, a security guard in a strikingly unfashionable, off-the-rack grey suit stepped squarely in front of the peeling front door.

He crossed his arms, doing his absolute best to look like a hardened sentinel guarding the gates of Mount Olympus, rather than a guy standing on a porch that looked like it was about to collapse under his weight.

"Hold it," he grunted, puffing out his chest. "Do you have an appointment?"

"It’s Miles," I said, checking my watch. "I’m coming by for a six A.M. fitting with Edna."

"Never heard of you," he deadpanned.

Oh, great. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look, pal, just radio up to Roger Benz. He knows I’m coming."

"Do you have any idea how often I get fed that line by paparazzi and D-list capes?" the guard sneered, leaning back on his heels belligerently.

My jaw tightened. I was operating on barely any sleep, I had a mad scientist on my payroll currently fighting a cyber-war, and I absolutely did not have the patience to argue with a glorified mall cop. "Look, I—"

"Boss? Let me try something."

I glanced back at Psyren. Her eyes were already glowing with those familiar, neon pink hearts.

I briefly considered telling her no—using mind control on civilian employees was generally frowned upon by the hero community—but we were less than three minutes away from missing an appointment with the most terrifying woman in the fashion industry. And I’d be damned if we were going to get turned away at the door of a literal shack.

There wasn’t a lot of time before Psyren’s debut, and having a decent costume wasn’t just a luxury; it was essential to her survival.

"Make it quick," I muttered, stepping back.

Psyren smirked, sauntering right up into the guard’s personal space.

The guy immediately stiffened, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, but the moment he looked down into her glowing pink pupils, his belligerent expression melted away into slack-jawed awe.

I felt the familiar, dull ache of psychic static buzzing at the base of my skull—always a solid indicator that Psyren was actively scrambling someone’s synapses.

"Hey there, handsome," she purred, batting her eyelashes and tracing a single, manicured finger down his cheap lapel. "Are you suuuure we can’t go in? Edna is supposed to make me the tightest, sexiest, most dangerous little outfit ever. And I’d love to get it on and show it off a bit. Wouldn’t you want to see me in it?"

"I... uh..."

"C’mon," Psyren cooed, her fingers walking up his chest before she lightly booped his nose. "Be a good boy. Be honest."

"Y-yeah," he mumbled, his eyes completely fogging over. The pink hearts throbbed in his glassy pupils like a window reflecting a cheap strip club’s neon sign. "Yeah. That sounds... really good."

"Sure it does! So why don’t you make a little call on that radio of yours, hm?" Psyren encouraged, flashing him a devastating smile.

The guard stared at her, his jaw practically unhinged as he fumbled blindly for the walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder. He pressed the button with a clumsy thumb. "Mister Benz?" he said dreamily. "I have... a couple of people here. They say they have an appointment with... with Edna."

A crisp, heavily annoyed reply chirped back over the radio.

Fuck. I knew that voice. And suddenly, I had a pretty good idea why we were having so much trouble getting into the building.

"Who is at the door, Kevin?" Roger Benz demanded, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Uh..." the guard droned dumbly, his eyes entirely locked on Psyren’s chest. "One’s a guy in... a jacket. But the other one... She’s..."

"Yeah?" Psyren coaxed, fluttering her lashes teasingly as another pulse of her powers made my head throb. "What am I?"

The guard shivered in absolute ecstasy. "She’s... she’s an angel," he whispered, completely losing himself in the psychic glow. "She’s got the most beautiful eyes and a tank top and—"

Okay, yeah. This was going to take way too long.

I reached out and simply plucked the walkie-talkie right off the guard’s shoulder. He was so deeply enthralled by Psyren that he didn’t even register the radio leaving his hand.

"...and her lips look so soft and pink... like strawberry candy..." the guard continued to drone to the empty air.

"Really? Aw, flatterer," Psyren giggled tantalizingly, happily keeping him occupied.

I shook my head and lifted the walkie-talkie to my mouth. "Roger? It’s Miles."

The heavy, put-upon scoff that crackled through the speaker could only belong to Roger Benz, Edna’s front-of-house manager and professional doormat. "Ah. The magnet fellow," Roger sneered, and I could just imagine his bald head wobbling with exaggerated exasperation. "What do you want?"

"I have a six A.M. appointment with Edna," I said, keeping my voice dangerously level. God, I hated dealing with this guy.

"Hmmm. Well, I didn’t see anything in the system. Are you quite sure you went through the proper channels?"

"I phoned her private line two days ago, Roger," I said.

"Mmm. That’s so odd. Looks like it must have been mislaid. I’m afraid Edna is veeeeery busy right now, so if you could just turn around and—"

"Sure," I interrupted, smiling brightly, my voice suddenly and forcefully chipper. "Of course. I’ll just go. And you’ll be sure to tell her that you turned us away at the door, right? I’d hate for Edna to think I just didn’t bother showing up for my six A.M. slot. Especially when I tell her exactly who locked me out the next time I see her."

Silence hummed over the radio waves. I had him perfectly cornered, and I could practically hear the rusted gears of Roger’s mind frantically grinding away.

Roger Benz was a born lackey. He looked like a bargain-bin Steve Jobs—shaved head, black turtleneck, round wire-rimmed glasses—and possessed a personality comprised entirely of sycophantic groveling.

People like Roger lived to serve those above themselves; they wouldn’t just lick the boots of their betters, they’d beg to eat the dirt off the soles with a pinch of organic sea salt and a side of chives.

Mostly, those kinds of people found natural employment as henchmen or middle-management bureaucrats. A megalomaniac couldn’t ask for a better bitch to carry out their whims.

As a result, though Roger loved to obstruct me, avoid me, and try to keep me away from the boss he practically worshipped as a deity, he would rather gnaw his own arm off at the elbow than take the fall for failing her.

I had him dead to rights. If he tried to keep me out at this point, he couldn’t avoid admitting to Edna that he had unilaterally decided to cancel her appointment. And Edna’s wrath was a force of nature. Which left him with only one choice.

"Of course," Roger said, his voice as sickly sweet as if he’d just swallowed a rotten grapefruit whole. "That would be just... terrible. And I do know how much Edna appreciates punctuality. Here. I’ll come down, and we can see what we can do about locating that... appointment."

"I’d be ever so obliged," I said dryly.