I could tell something was wrong just by looking at his face. Patriarch was never a pleasant man where I was concerned. Rare were the days I could speak to him without a condescending smile or a disappointed scowl marring his face. We were friends once me and him. But that tends to fall by the wayside when one of you turns out to be godlike in power and the other gets a power weaker than a conventional cell phone.

This time though, he had his stern fatherly face on. The one the media loves. The one the world at large knows best. It was the face he always gave a televised criminal when he pleaded for them to turn themselves in and reform. So few other people actually knew Patty that I'm sure no one but me noticed the one televised appearance where his opponent took him up on his offer was also one of the only times he'd ever looked disappointed on television. Unhappy.

At the end of the day, the Patriarch was an institutionalized bully. He loved lording his power over others, and he had a lot of power to lord. His intent was never to help anyone. It was just to look good while he indulged.

"Patty. Please. I know we-" I started, sputtering but was immediately cut off.

"John, Please. I know we're not friends anymore. But this has to stop." 

He'd said what I wanted to say so perfectly in sync with me, that it felt like he'd been waiting for it. But that wasn't what told me something was wrong. No, it was his tone of voice more than anything that convinced me I was in for trouble. It was his televised voice. Larger than life, loud enough that every camera could hear it over a fight.

It also didn't make any sense. I'd been working for him and his discount Justice League for as long as I could remember. As it turns out, superheroes are just as bad as, if not worse than, Hollywood celebrities for getting themselves into easily avoidable scandals. That was what they retained me for after all. To make the shitty PR go away. To cover their asses when they drunkenly used their powers to impress some airhead in a bar. Sometimes it was easy. One man jobs I could plan an pull off in a few days. Like Jane. Sometimes I had to spend weeks stalking and fixing a handful of people that had seen something they shouldn't. If that sounds immoral to you that's because it is - but I was getting paid by the good guys to do it, so I didn't have a lot of reason to complain. 

Instead of immediately answering his apparent plea for mercy, I started scanning my surroundings, both mentally and visually. I felt uncomfortably naked as I spun around on the rooftop, my bag of tools coming around from where it hung on my shoulder to smack me sharply in the chest with a light thwacking noise and a dull clang as all my useless wrenches and screwdrivers careened into each other. I realized with a disturbing suddenness that I couldn't sense any people. Everything LOOKED fine. But there were no people. No psychic imprints in the surrounding space, no ambient thoughts, nothing. Given that we were on top of a multi-story building that should be TEEMING with people at this hour, I was struck with the alarming wrongness of it all, before turning inward to examine my own mind, and spinning back around to face the Patriarch when I didn't notice anything wrong. 

"In memory of our long and storied friendship Patty, I'll listen to you at least. I'm more than willing to stop." My tone was conciliatory, almost casually friendly. I had to assume that if his media face was on then the media were around, and the appearance of cooperation would at least guarantee that no one had an excuse to spread me out over the top of the nearest mountain range like so much strawberry jam. Besides. He hated when I called him Patty. Everyone else would assume it was a short form of his alias, Patriarch, but I knew better. Patty, to the Patriarch, was always the glib nickname that fat bullied Patrick wore. It was always going to be a reminder that he wasn't always a demigod. It was a reminder that I KNEW him.

And there was nothing he could do about it if we were being watched. Not without damaging his image.

"Ah, Felix. You were so driven when we were younger. You wanted to be a Hero even more than I did. You were dedicated. Even helped me through my early years. But this? Its low John. Never would have pegged you for it. " Patriarch grit his teeth as he spoke, no doubt forcing himself to keep up the act. Anyone watching would probably assume he was distressed by confronting a friend. Which was bullshit. He just really, really wanted to kill me. I couldn't read minds worth a damn and even I could pick that one out of the mental static coming off him.

I noted he'd used my real name during his little speech. If I had much faith in the man's intelligence I'd think he was subtly acknowledging my jab. Unfortunately, I knew better. More than likely, he was just trying to turn the implied threat back on me, not realizing that someone like me was so unimportant that threatening my reputation or implying unspoken truths was meaningless. My entire career was basically shot the second he came for me. Patty got so much TV coverage whenever he was in costume, that being seen near him pretty much meant my days of pretending to be a plumber were over. 

Still distracted as mind worked overtime to figure out what was going on, I was somewhat slow in answering as I said "I didn't do anything that you-" but was abruptly cut off as I found myself three feet behind where I was originally standing, and pressed firmly into the side of a large metal vent that had been erected there. All the air left my lungs at once and I struggled for breath as the too large hand of the Patriarch held me aloft by the throat, his face only inches away from mine in a vicious and indignant snarl that I could easily tell was fake. The first hints of a smile had crept on to Patty's face as he'd finally laid hands on me. Not noticeable in any way really, except to someone who'd grown up with him. 

"SHE'S MY WIFE JOHN!" he cried out, just a bit too loudly, then continued in a stage whisper "What you've done to her, to so many others. Was it worth it John? You couldn't be a Hero so you became a villain?"

It took me a moment to grasp what he was implying, gasping for breath through the pinhole-sized airway Patriarch had left me. He was trying to spin this on me. Make it look like I had done something to his wife for.. revenge? Because I had weak powers? I couldn't understand who the show was for. I'd worked for pretty much every heavy hitter on the planet at this point and I'd never so much as set foot near a deal with a bad guy. We may not be best friends but these guys knew me. The only member of Patriarchs team who didn't like me was -

Panic struck me as I recognized who must be blocking my power from sensing my surroundings, and I began violent wrenching myself back and forth in Patriarchs grip, hurting myself more than him. Unable to think of another way out I started to try and befuddle him - anyone really. It wasn't a targeted thing, or calculated, or surgical as is my usual operating procedure. It was a wild flexing of every iota of psychic power I could muster, fueled by panic, and rage, and more than a little bit of pants shitting fear.

For a brief moment, I thought I might make it too. Patriarchs grip loosened and he started shivering violently, frozen in place by my power, and capitalizing on the moment I scrabbled across the ground to my bag, scooping it off the ground where I'd dropped it, and sprinted for the roof access, hoping to make my way into the guts of the building where I could get lost in someone's apartment or simply make a run for it. It occurred to me that it was functionally impossible for me to escape Patty and that I might want a hostage. Not because I'm a villain mind you, but because Patty killing me was the type of nightmare I had so frequently I really didn't want to be captured by him. I rapidly began trying to make the best of a bad situation. I hurtled across the gravel-covered rooftop towards the door, already planning to cause a scene that would require some other hero to come along that I could turn myself in to.

Unfortunately, it was a testament to how much focus it takes me to project a literal seizure field around myself that I had actually forgotten WHY I had resorted to its use in the first place. No sooner had I opened the door to the stairs when I found my tenuous grasp on the seizure-causing waves of thought shatter, and not by my own lack of focus. A man wearing ancient greek robes like that of Plato and Socrates rose up from the staircase. The pristine white fabric of the thing clung to him in impossible, gravity-defying ways as he came to slow stop in front of me. Looking every bit the scholar as those men he'd patterned his costume after, there was one thing that was impossible to forget about him: his brain extended out the back of his head by at least a foot and a half, suspended in the air by specially designed plastic case of some kind that was clearly embroidered with golden filigree where it was anchored to his distended skull. You could literally see Headcase thinking, as his brain produced a tesla coils worth of neuroelectric energy.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Headcase hates me. Vehemently. I'm significantly more technically skilled with my power than he is, and he's one of the few supers I've never done work for. Despite being hilariously rich and powerful, he simply wasn't very fun to look at - and I suspect he knew it. He's such a powerful psychic that complicated mental processes are permanently locked to him. Oh, he can send and receive thoughts, throw crap with his brain and all the other really useful stuff - but mind control, memory manipulation, and pretty much anything else that involved actually being in someone's mind were impossible for him. Even applying his full psychic attention to a person is enough to fry their brain - let alone tamper with their inner workings. I'd trade him in a heartbeat of course. Even WITH the hideous extended brain thing.

All that is to say, he's the worlds preeminent Telepath and Telekinetic, boasting extreme range and power - and he's under the misguided belief that what I do is a horrible attempt to make him look bad. 

Instantly I felt the ironclad grip of Patriarch around my throat again.

"I see you really did need my help with this dreg Patriarch. How ironic that the most powerful super on the planet is such a poor match for the weakest." Headcase drawled in the sort of snarky high society tone of voice you'd expect only exists in television dramas.

"As I said at the briefing, he is EXTREMELY dangerous. I'm glad at least you took me seriously or he could have kept me seizing on this roof until I stopped breathing." Patriarch groused, his tone becoming dark and vexed, his stare boring a hole through my the back of my head.

I realized belatedly that he'd been faking it. There was no way I could cause that much damage to another person with my befuddlement - let alone one I threw at the worlds most powerful man, while in a barely restrained state of panic. He'd just baited me into attacking him so whoever was watching could tell I was 'dangerous'. 

"I wonder at that ability of his though..." Headcase mused, his tone of voice condescending and mild even as he zipped around my once more limp and hanging form. "

It's just so wonderfully thought out. Artificial Seizures. Something like.. this perhaps?" A cocksure grin spread across his face, and I girded myself mentally for only the briefest of moments before I was struck by a Grand Mal seizure. My entire body spasming at odd angles, pain radiating out through me as my jaw worked and my stomach and bowels attempted to eject their contents in both directions at once. I had only just managed to focus hard enough to ensure I didn't bite my own tongue off and drown in my own blood - when I blacked out.

I awoke confused and disoriented. I could feel drool and vomit where it had dried on my front and chin, and felt my bare feet dragging across what felt like a smooth stone floor. Occasionally I could hear the derisive cries of what I assumed were other people, muffled and in the distance but couldn't see anything ahead of me but a long stone hallway.

To either side of me, only barely holding me up with a large metallic hand under my arms were two, large metallic men - each one at least two feet tall, sporting gleaming white plating all across their bodies, fit together in patterns and sizes so perfect it was nearly seamless. They seemed to flow up the enormous hallway as they dragged me, like living quicksilver. The hallway itself seemed to have no light source, and yet was completely illuminated, as though by magic - which I supposed it was. 

Patriarch's team of sycophants happened to include one, highly pretentious (all of them were), spellcaster. While the enigmatic man known as Reeves had absolutely no costume, merchandise, or silly cartoon name, he styled himself as the 'Archmage of Earth' and spent much of his time expanding, maintaining, and improving, the tremendous stone prison the league had contracted out for use to any government that couldn't hold a super in a conventional jail. 

This immense, miles wide, ever-expanding complex of granite sat dead in the middle of nowhere - with no searchers ever having found it to exist on the earth, likely because it was so far underground that everyone in it probably qualified as a moleman. And only the worst, most powerful villains got sent here.

I began struggling violently, no longer concerned with any punishment my ironclad escort might apply to me as some of the bigger names I might meet here flitted through my mind. I imagined the King of Skin slowly flaying my skin from my still living body and binding my soul to it like a sick sort of sock puppet. I considered the terribly ruin the biokinetic monster known as the Cancermancer could bring to my flesh. And I struggled. And screamed.  I even tried using my powers for a while. 

Not once did the beings holding me flinch or even loosen their grip on me. They were without pain, mercy, or evidently, even one single fuck to give about whatever it was I was doing.

Eventually, the guards dragging me came to a stop and turned to face a section of the wall that appeared no different to any other. My struggling had died down at this point, my pitiful stamina finally giving out on me. A voice boomed from somewhere in the center of both quicksilver men in stereo, unfamiliar to me, but easy to guess at once it began speaking.

"Welcome to Castle Reeve. As the Archmage of Earth I don't really have time to care for the petty needs of every criminal to grace my halls, so in the interest of lightening my workload I have chosen to pair off inmates in... helpful ways." spoke the eloquent voice in what was clearly a fake British accent. 

The stone wall in front of us suddenly shifted, a section large enough to fit myself and my captors flipping to the left and open as though a giant domino shifted by an unseen hand. The stone seam surrounding the new protrusion seemed to change and flow outward, like silt as the door moved, leaving me to wonder how air got into these cells. It made hardly any noise at all, which was why the slavering shrieks and bellows coming from the cage set in the recesses of the newly opened cave were so disconcerting, and instantly jolted me out of my focus on the mechanisms of the door.

The space inside was small, a circular room with one half walled off by tremendous steal bars, metal shackles hanging from the walls inside it. There were no accommodations usually afforded prisoners here. No toilet. No bed. No sink. just a plain stone room. And flailing about inside that cage was a tremendous, orange blur. It careened back and forth off every available wall and surface, leaving 4-inch rents in the stone walls and sending showers of sparks flying every which way when it hit the bars of its cell. Even as the being inside rampaged, the stone walls around it began to fill and reform, like a rapidly healing wound, faster than even the orange monstrosity could damage it. Eventually, the being came to a standstill in the center of the cage, its eyes 6 green eyes centered on me, giving me my first good look at what I was fairly certain was going to be my executioner.

It was at least 8 feet tall, and possessed of a tail almost as long as long. Powerful muscles radiated up its digitigrade legs and across its four powerful arms, each one ending in vicious looking razor sharp claws. It's head was almost snake-like, but attached to a stocky neck full of corded muscle. Three eyes were clustered close together, on either side of its head, where the eyes of a snake usually went. One eye from each side was shifted slightly more forward than the others closer to the front of its face, where a humans eye would be. Its mouth opened and closed with the lower jaw splitting in half down the middle to reveal a maw filled with a mind breaking number of teeth, and a red tongue thick and long enough to choke me with.

I recognized the creature instantly. No one knew if it was a human changed by its powers, or a lizard that had undergone some kind of experimentation, Lizardface was almost as old as the super phenomenon in general. He was iconic. He'd been around since the beginning, when people first started getting powers, and was known to appear in the middle of two other supers fighting and brutally murder them both. All the while screeching at the surrounding crowd like it wasn't satisfied yet. The general consensus was that whatever Lizardface was, it was stupid. Terribly so. Strength, Speed, and Durability, to give Patriarch a run for his money, in the mind of a deranged child.

I began hyperventilating at the sheer sight of the thing. A primal fear welling up in me that anyone with even basic survival instincts would feel in the face of such overwhelming force. It screamed 'Run away! Do something! Do anything or your gonna freaking die!'

I immediately returned to flailing ineffectually at the constructs holding me in place. When that didn't work, I begged them, pleaded for them to just kill me themselves if they were so set on it. Just anything but this. It didn't work of course, and as I screamed obscenities at the heartless Archmage who built this nightmare, I became certain that I was going to be eaten alive.

Ignoring me the entire time, the constructs holding me dragged me inexorably across the stone floor, my feet leaving a trail in the dust that implied nothing had come this way in a long while and threw me at the solid steel bars. I braced for some kind of impact, prepared to use the recoil to bounce out of reach of the horrendous monster within - but none came. My body passed harmlessly through the bars like they weren't even there, a problem I quickly found they didn't have going from the inside out, as I fell to the floor and tumbled backwards into them.

Directly at the feet of Lizardface.