The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner made me scrunch up my nose, put my hands on my ears and recite some physical laws. I persisted until the only sound in my head was sweet science. I was not at all to blame for my reactions, might I add. I have been waiting for thirty minutes. That’s a lifetime, folks.

Villains, always being fashionably late, then taking it to an extreme.

The squeaking of father’s chair, so abrupt, caused me to adopt a normal posture and to gaze up at him. His visage was an emotionless mask, a sort of poker face he often used when dealing with me when I was in trouble. But the face was not for me.

Murmurs echoed from behind the wall until they became loud enough to be decipherable. The villains must have been allowed inside by Nancy and they were currently just outside the meeting room! I, of course, was not eavesdropping, they were just that loud.

“Is this the place?” a puppy-like voice piped up. It was male.

“Darn Fyodorov, always with the mind games,” another male grumbled.

“Fydy has a peculiar sense of humor,” a feminine voice rang out “What do you think, Mystery Man?”

Silence greeted me next.

Father sighed, no doubt contemplating helping them.

“Precisely my thoughts!” the woman exclaimed mockingly after the lack of response.

“It must be the red book,” a monotone voice said.

“Oh! I got it!” the eager first voice shouted.

“Aw!” he exclaimed.

“Not that one, idiot!” the grumbling male said before the wall began to move.

I shivered with anticipation as my father got up to greet the first guess. Since I had studied the supervillains carefully in newspapers and documentaries, I knew immediately who it was. “The Commander”, a slippery mercenary, with telepathic abilities, known for almost taking down all the Invincibles, back when they were actual superheroes.

Rumor had it that he could speak ten languages fluently and that he often hid in plain sight. You see, there was this mention of him, going to the Official Library, the one named after the superheroes in their honor. It was said he was dressed in civvies and reading “Cow goes moo,” to a bunch of toddlers. What a softie. A murderous softie, but still.

Oh no! He was smiling at me. Did he read my thoughts?

I didn’t have much time to ponder about it, as “Madame Science” entered the room. The french villainess was dressed from head to toe in a red lab coat. She was giving father a chesire smile. Science was known for her striking intellect and her unparalleled ability to fly. A miraculous gift formed from the ashes of a terrible lab accident. Did I mention she was married to the Commander?

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The next person who stepped into the room was “The Widower.” As his name implied, his wife, Charleen died. Only he blamed the superheroes for not being capable of saving her. Back then, a building was rapidly falling apart and Long Arm, the leader of the ex-superheroes was already carrying multiple people in his arms. He made a mad dash toward her, but it was too late.

He was known for his primitive knowledge of the martial arts, he was certainly no black belt. He was also a renowned psychologist. Needless to say, he never won a victory against the Invincibles and they used to pity him. But he was very skilled in chatting with the prison guards and convincing them to help him escape.

Lastly, but not least “Mystery Man” stepped in. I knew nothing about him other than the fact that he was new. He was also an enigma. My eyes glimmered in excitement at the prospect of unveiling his secrets.

“Dear Fyodorov, when was the last time you cleaned this place?” The Widower asked, inspecting critically our secret meeting room. Just as I suspected, the low-ranked villains were bound to complain.

“We can discuss cleaning, cooking, and child-rearing later, Widower. We came here for a purpose, didn’t we?” the Commander asked humorously.

“Quite,” my father said.

I thought the meeting was about to commence until I heard even more voices behind the wall.

“This stupid meeting, and stupid forest and stupid parents!”

“Layla!”

“Do you think there will be food?”

Before I could blink, four more children barged into the room. The first one was a boy, stoic, quiet, almost cocky. His eyes were jade and his hair the darkest of ebony. Next were a pair of twins, a brown haired girl with honey gold eyes and a yellow haired boy with blue orbs. As dark as the deepest sea. The last one I saw was a small child.

‘He must be about five years old,’ I thought.

He threw me a penetrating look, almost like he was wise beyond his years and could see things which most adults can’t.

“Seven,” he said.

“I…” I gaped stupidly like a fish for about two minutes.

“I’m seven years old!” he proudly proclaimed.

He just read my mind, which meant that he must be The Commander and Science's child.

Goosebumps crawled around my skin and I suppressed a shiver. It was turning scary. Good thing I put on my big boy pants.

The girl, Layla smiled at me and her twin brother outright laughed. I almost scowled before schooling my features, crouching down and saying “Nice to meet you. I’m Aleksadr. What is your name?”

“My name is not important,” the seven year old said.

“His name’s Michael. He’s our younger brother. Don’t mind him, he’s just grumpy because he wants to keep his identity secret,” Layla told me, grinning mischievously. Her mood must have improved as soon as her baby brother began the hijinks. My cheeks reddened as I gazed at her brilliant smile. Her twin glared at me.

“I’m Layla and this is my twin brother Cameron. The other boy is our best friend-”

“Kindly refrain from telling the vapid stranger my personal information. What’s next, are you going to tell him the color of my toothbrush?” the lanky, tall adolescent asked, raising one eyebrow.

Vapid? Why did he say that about me? Only because I did not expect to get my mind read by a fi-seven year old.

“Charlie,” the Widower said, “I raised you better than that!”

I had forgotten the adults were listening.

“Well, you heard the name now, Fyodorov. What more could you want from me, an autographed photo?” he asked drily.

I grimaced at his holier than thou attitude and I did not appreciate his pride, at all. So I threw a barb right back at him.

“Yes please, I could use it as inspiration for Halloween,” I added and he scowled.

Layla’s bubbly laughter resonated around the room.