A cool, artificial breeze washes over me as I step into the opulent amphitheater. It feels good to be back in a familiar place, after all the bad that's happened. First, my father's demise at the hands of the 'great defenders of our city,' then the hours of walking, which coupled with the assassination attempt, has really thrown me off my rhythm. Of all the places, this is the closest to my heart. You can buy anything from fancy jewelry hand-crafted by expert jewelers to illegal genetic modifications created by a mad scientist without a degree and stored in an old heroin needle. Despite the dangers, everyone knows; if you need something, you go to the Black Market.
In this case, I needed two things, but one of those is only a side objective caused by my unfortunate new attaché. First, I need to find a hush communicator, that is, a person who's power allows them to contact people at far distances without being detected. Then, I'll need to take Clash to see Trisha, the best tailor under this amphitheaters dome. Honestly, I don't understand how someone who's just starting out decides that they'll wear whatever they have on hand. Even I thought about my outfit for my debut, and I was fourteen! Granted, the costume was a high-collared black trench coat, but still.
"Alright, here's the plan. You have a habit for getting into trouble, by your own admission, so no matter what, stick by my side and don't talk to anyone. Well, besides telling them to go away. Got it?" I ask Clash, who nods rapidly in response. "Now, I'm not sure if I said this earlier, but I'm here for a communicator. Once I finish up, then we'll go get you a costume. I am not doing this from the goodness of my heart. That means that you'll have to pay for it yourself."
"That sounds reasonable. But, funny story, haha, I didn't actually bring any money." She at least has the decency to look sheepishly at the ground.
I'm going to be totally honest; I don't know how this girl has survived in Rex Inductus for so long. I guess luck and powers really can solve any problem.
"Fine, I will pay for it, but you'll owe me however much it costs. If you can't pay me back, then you'll have to work for me until you do. Do I make myself clear?" There, that should set her straight. Knowing Trisha's prices, Clash probably won't be able to pay me, so I'll have a free minion!
"I'll pay you back, but can I still have the job anyway? Working for THE Visage would be the greatest thing ever!" She hops about, disrupting the villains and minions moving around us.
"Sure, but let's discuss all that once I finish up with my business, okay? Now move over; you don't want to annoy anyone, especially right at the entrance."
I pull her off to the side of the main thoroughfare and take a gaze down over the amphitheater. Because of how it's built, the center of the amphitheater is at the lowest point, in an area called the Pit. That's where the best, or the worst depending on your morality, villains set up shop. The higher up you go, the crappier stuff is. The Pit is filled with grand tents, well-made shacks, and even a few proper buildings that have somehow sprung up in the three hours that Koreatown's been closed. With so much space, I can only barely see people moving around those shops. I'm not sure why this amphitheater is so ridiculously massive, with a max capacity of half a million people when sitting on chairs, but it's incredibly useful. It's also weird that the chairs can sink into the floor, but honestly, I'd say that is the least bizarre thing, considering it's a villain establishment over the weekends. It's a real party during long breaks, for the villains, that is.
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I stop my aimless staring and search for the symbol of a communicator: a wavy line inside a circle. I can't skimp on the money, since I'm being tracked by the cops for working with my father, at least according to my phone. So, scanning the Pit, I realize that I am way too high up to be trying to find a small, ambiguous symbol. I grab onto Clash's arm, causing her to give off an un-cape-like squeak of surprise, before marching my way down, avoiding the bigger and more dangerous looking villains. While looks aren't everything, they are important enough that they can't be overlooked. Also, to a supervillain, looks are almost everything. You either look like the most intimidating monster ever seen on this planet, or you follow a theme. My route had been a mix of both, with intimidating armor and black clothing. I wonder if any of my old stashes are still around? June probably knows where better gear is, though.
As we walk, my possible colorful minion is staring in wonder at our surroundings. With every bioweapon or death ray we pass, she tries to stop and stare. And trust me, we go by a lot of those. I saw Professor Raiment sitting behind a stall that was covered in clothing and disintegration rays. Then there was a gigantic maggot held up by robotic limbs, probably a bioweapon. It was selling jars of putrid green fluid, the same fluid dripping from its mouth and sizzling against the ground, as well as maggots the size of an arm, outfitted with tech that turned them into freakish guns. All of this was situated on top of a giant beetle, which was calmly laying on the ground, its attentae flicking wildly to and fro. Farther down was a classic mad scientist, trying to auction of his death ray. Even this early in the morning, there were a good five people bidding.
I have to admit, the quality of villains has really gone up in the past three years. I mean, I did go to Koreatown on the weekends during my hiatus, but I didn't go to the Black Market. It almost makes me wish I never quit.
Fortunately enough, before I can begin reminiscing about the good old days, I spot a black tent with the communicator's symbol. It's styled less like a camping tent and more like a classic carnival tent, but all black. If this wasn't indoors and with a powerful air conditioner, it'd be hot as hell. Moving around to the front of the tent, still dragging Clash behind me, I bear witness to the great communicator's door! That is, a small opening in the tent, which has to be moved to enter. Definitely not the poshest, but then again, it's only been three hours.
"Okay, now we're here. I want you to stay right in this area, not getting into any trouble whatsoever. If I hear the faintest sound of a fight, you can no longer become my minion once this is over, got it?" Clash does her, now signature in my mind, rapid nodding, almost causing her green scarf mask to get loose.
"Uh, so quick question, why are we here, anyway? I know you said to talk to someone, but who, and why?" The extremely colorfully dressed villain-hopeful stares up at me with her best puppy dog impression. It doesn't work. No, really, it doesn't!
"I'm just talking to my mentor, who I hope will be able to assist me in an endeavor. Don't worry, I'll tell you about it, if, and only if, you become my minion. So no fighting. Got it?" My fierce question is responded to with another burst of head bobs.
All I can do is hope that her villain worship is stronger than her trouble magnetism. I turn around a walk through the carnival tent. Glancing up right before I enter, I see the words 'Call of the Lloyd: Hush-Hush Communications' written on the sign hanging above the entrance.