Chapter 107 Scenario.

Chapter 107: 107 Scenario.

To be a true villain required a level of deep-seated narcissism that, while enabling fantastic evil rants and dramatic cape flourishes, didn’t exactly foster a great HR environment. There was a reason every evil volcano lair had at least one shark tank or incinerator chute to drop failing henchmen into.

"You got that right," Rhea giggled, crooning softly as my fingers worked through her hair, my other hand easing down to lightly scratch under her chin. "Mmm. And I sure as fuck couldn’t go to the heroes."

"Why not?"

She snorted, opening one eye. "Aside from the fact most of the corporate capes would probably sell me up the river just as fast as a villain would? The rest would just throw me in a black site prison. Remember, Miles. I’m a real bad girl. I’ve invented all kinds of nefarious machinery, weaponized drones, and orbital kinetic strikes. They’d be all over that."

Well, that was fair enough.

There was a reason I never worked with actual villains. My work was already legally borderline, and given half a chance, the heroes and the Feds would swoop in on me the absolute second they caught me breaking an actual felony statute.

Rhea not only worked for villains whose whole schtick was trying to conquer the globe, she’d probably hand-machined half the doomsday devices that had threatened major metropolises over the last five years. She was in a no-win scenario.

"How are the new security measures coming along?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Mmm. Not bad. Got a few mechanical tricks and traps set up now. Less than I’d like, but I’m getting there. I installed automated titanium shutters on all the windows, some fun proximity-triggered Tesla coils in the tree line, and a few other things to make it spicy. I’d love to test them out, but the mailmen don’t come up this far. Either way, we’re lucky Captain Zero ran this place before us. The old syndicates were pretty good at fortifying their boss’s lairs. The walls are nice and thick with reinforced rebar, not to mention all the external motion sensors. No one’s sneaking up on this place."

"I did," I pointed out.

Rhea scoffed, swatting playfully at my leg. "Yeah, but that was before I got to work on it. If you tried that again, my automated sentries would turn you into swiss cheese before you even hit the front porch."

Rhea scoffed. "Yeah, but that was before I rebuilt the grid. If you tried that stunt again, my automated sentries would vaporize you before your boots hit the front porch."

"Oh? So the octoporian is actually functional?"

She squirmed on her stool, her tail thumping excitedly against the metal leg of the workbench. "Almost! I just need to balance the power draw. I’ve hooked it directly into the chalet’s main generator, but I’m still driving the geothermal rods deep into the bedrock. This place is going to run clean, green, and completely lethal!"

"Didn’t take you for an eco-warrior," I noted.

"Miles, please! We have to preserve nature. Where do you think all the best neurotoxins grow?"

"Fair point," I conceded, giving her woolly hair a final, affectionate ruffle. "Alright, I’ve got to go. I promised Psyren we’d workshop her big debut."

"Have fun!" Rhea chirped, immediately spinning back to her wall of monitors. The frantic clattering of her mechanical keyboard followed me as I climbed the stairs and headed for the rear exit.

I grabbed a crumpled sack of empty soda cans I’d stashed by the door for exactly this purpose and stepped out onto the back patio. Glacia was already waiting for me.

"Sir," she greeted, offering a crisp, formal nod.

I nodded back and led the way onto the lawn.

I needed her out here today. Specifically, I needed a spotter whose brain wasn’t naturally shielded against psychic intrusion. My magnetic field scrambled telepathic signals, which was usually a massive tactical advantage. Over the years, plenty of psychics had come after me—either self-righteous heroes trying to forcibly "rehabilitate" me or rival villains looking for a mind-controlled attack dog.

It never worked out for them. Since most telepaths aren’t accustomed to their brainwashing just bouncing off a target, they always get this wonderfully stupid, bewildered look right before I hit them with a flying Buick.

But because of that immunity, I needed Glacia to actually see what Psyren was projecting. If Psyren was going to use her powers on civilians, I wanted to ensure it was the clean, "ethical" kind of mind control. A zombified, blank-slate approach was best. It wiped the short-term memory, meaning the victims wouldn’t suffer the existential horror of losing their free will, and the worst hangover was a mild migraine and maybe a weird new fetish. In a city crawling with supers, getting mind-controlled was practically a rite of passage anyway.

The morning sun was surprisingly warm as we crunched across the dead, frosted grass. Up ahead loomed the scraggly, browned remains of the estate’s hedge maze. It looked like it hadn’t seen spring in a decade, which wasn’t shocking given its previous owner manipulated winter like a party trick.

Psyren was lounging against the maze’s entrance. She perked up immediately. "Hey, boss," she grinned, popping her hip so the heavy chains on her belt jingled loudly. "All set?"

"We are," I said, dropping the sack of cans onto the dead grass. "Now, this setup is going to be a little out of my wheelhouse since my brand is mostly heavy combat and property damage. But this leans perfectly into your skillset. Your primary job is theatricality. You need to sell the drama."

"Gotcha. It’s all about the performance."

"Exactly. Let’s see what you’ve got dialed in so far. Glacia?"

"Sir?"

"You’re on visual duty. Give me a read on whatever she projects. Psyren?"

"Boss?"

"Here is the scenario: You’ve just hijacked the movie screening and made it your private concert. The Superstars storm the stage and loudly accuse you of brainwashing their crowd. All eyes are on you. What’s your opening line?"

Psyren smirked, shifting her weight as she spread her hands. The neon pink hearts in her eyes flared to life, and that familiar, buzzing pressure clamped down on the front of my skull.

"Heeeey, girls," she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "So you finally figured it out? Well, too bad! Because I’m just getting warmed up!"

I stood there, waiting for the rest of the monologue.

Nothing else happened. Psyren just dropped her hands, looking extremely pleased with herself.

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s it?"