Chapter 118 Improv.

Chapter 118: 118 Improv.

I didn’t have time to admire my handiwork. I released my magnetic grip, letting the massive pile of scrap metal settle over Trevor’s unconscious body like a very expensive tombstone, and bolted for the curtain.

I peeked through the velvet just in time to see the choreography falling apart.

One of the Devil’s Details went flying into the front row courtesy of a sonic screech from Wraith, leaving Psyren standing alone on stage facing down the heroine trio.

Shit! This wasn’t good. We needed an out, and my heavily rehearsed, Firefly-approved exit strategy was currently buried under two tons of twisted steel.

Well, time to improvise.

I hastily wrapped my magnetic field around my armor, lifting myself a few inches off the floor. I needed a cape.

You absolutely cannot execute a surprise master-villain reveal without a cape; it’s practically an industry mandate.

I spotted a wardrobe rack in the shadows, ripped a sweeping black cloak off a hanger, and tied it around my neck just as my helmet deployed, sealing over my face with a metallic hiss.

I reached out with my powers and grabbed a dozen pieces of the wrecked equipment I’d just used to batter Golden—snare drums, mic stands, twisted cymbals—and floated them around myself like a jagged, metallic halo. I listened intently, waiting for my cue.

"It’s over, Psyren! You’re coming with us!" Phoenix shouted for the cameras.

"Aw, that’s so cute you think so," Psyren taunted, holding her ground. "But my friend has other ideas."

I cranked my helmet’s external speakers to maximum overdrive.

"Indeed I do!" I thundered, the synthesized bass rattling the floorboards.

I jerked my hand, magnetically ripping the heavy stage curtains completely off their rails to reveal myself.

The Superstars and Psyren spun toward me in shock. I could practically feel the crowd’s collective gasp over the roar of the music. But I didn’t have time to soak up the applause.

I needed to get us out of here before someone realized Golden was buried at the back. I drifted down onto the stage beside Psyren, staring down the heroines through my glowing visor.

"So, these are the little superstars who foiled my protégé’s grand scheme, eh?"

I glanced down at Psyren, and her face instantly brightened. Ah, smart girl.

"That’s right, boss!" she said, flashing an impish look my way as she tucked herself against my side. "I’m sorry, master. You’re not mad, are you?"

I let out a booming, synthesized villain laugh.

Fuuuuck, my ribs. It felt like I was being stabbed with a hot poker. I worked through the pain, refusing to let it show.

"Of course not, my dear sidekick," I boomed, placing a heavy, armored hand on her shoulder. "Though these heroes may have won the battle tonight, the war is merely beginning!"

"You!" Phoenix cried, stepping forward and pointing accusingly. Thank God. I’d hoped the veteran sidekick knew how to improv. Considering she’d probably been a part of dozens of villain reveals over the years, she picked up the script instantly. "You’re the mastermind behind this?"

"Guilty as charged! But don’t celebrate just yet, Superstars! If you’ll excuse us, we will be taking our leave!"

"You’re not going anywhere!" Phoenix shouted, her body instantly erupting into crimson flames.

"Yeah!" Wraith yelled.

"Uh-huh!" Beeatrix added.

Wow. Incredible dialogue there, girls.

"Is that so? Then try and stop us!" I declared, sweeping my arm forward.

The halo of studio equipment flew at the trio in a barrage of musically thematic missiles.

Naturally, I pulled my punches. I held back the heavy kinetic force, ensuring I wouldn’t actually hurt Firefly’s million-dollar investments.

And I didn’t. Phoenix lashed out with her hands, sending streaks of fire shaped like birds to incinerate the drums mid-air. Wraith screamed, projecting rings of solid sound that shattered the mic stands into shrapnel. Beeatrix threw her hands up, unleashing a wave of... glitter?

Sparkles that violently exploded the second they touched something.

Neat.

The chain of explosions created a massive wall of fire and smoke, perfectly screening me from the heroines. Alright, that worked. I grabbed Psyren by the waist and pulled her tight against my side.

"Farewell, Superstars!" I boomed over the pyrotechnics. "Until we meet again!"

"Bye-bye!" Psyren called out, wrapping one arm tightly around my neck and blowing the heroines a mocking kiss.

I fed maximum power to my thrusters, launching us into the air toward the open roof. But I needed one last bit of flair. Something for the highlight reels.

With a sharp mental tug, I grabbed the heavy iron coils inside the stage’s primary speaker towers and violently ripped them out.

The massive subwoofers blew out in a synchronized explosion, raining down a spectacular storm of crackling electrical sparks. The sheer cinematic scale of it drew a massive, terrified scream of delight from the crowd.

Oh yeah. That was what professional villainy was all about.

But as I rose into the cool night sky, the initial adrenaline high began to fade, replaced by a sinking dread.

Golden Boy was out of commission. The script was burned. I was going to have to answer for this, and Lacey was not going to be happy.

I carried Psyren across the river, touching down on an abandoned industrial pier miles away from the Omnidome. My helmet retracted with a series of metallic clicks.

Psyren stepped away from me, her face flushed, her eyes blazing bright pink with lingering psychic euphoria. She had definitely laced our exit with a little extra telepathic awe to really sell the terror. Well, I could hardly complain.

"Did I do well, boss?" she asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You killed it," I said sincerely, clutching my aching side. "I doubt anyone in that stadium is ever going to forget the show you just put on."

Psyren giggled, twirling around with her arms raised above her head, staring back across the water at the distant, sweeping klieg lights of the Omnidome.

"Mmmm," she purred, utterly satisfied. "Thanks, boss." Then, her smile faltered into a confused frown. "Wait. What happened to Golden Boy?"

I sighed, pulling my burner phone from my belt and thumbing in Lacey’s direct line. "He decided he’d rather try to collect a thirty-million-dollar bounty on my head than finish the choreography."

Psyren dropped her arms, her pink eyes instantly shifting to a hostile, glowing red. "What? That arrogant bastard! I’ll fucking destroy him."

"Appreciate the loyalty, but I already beat you to it," I said, pressing the phone to my ear.

It didn’t even make it through half a ring before the line clicked open.