… it turns out evil requires a lot more walking and literal slinking in the shadows than cartoons and comics would have you believe.

That’s the only thought that fills my mind as I dip between sidewalks and alleyways, barely navigating the mess of interlocking alleyways and nested streets. There are more storefronts than I can shake a stick at on either side of me when I slip through crosswalks. Of course, I make sure to enjoy a little bit of jaywalking whenever I can. Evil is a spectrum, you know. Gotta get ahead of the curb in any way I can.

Every step I take is intermixed with hurried glances at the world around me, carefully studying anything and everything for a hint of the eye-searing orange logo that’s stamped on every faucet of my target. I’d spent a solid thirty minutes just memorizing the architecture of the building, but it’d only taken a second for that ugly orange swirl and curly yellow font to lodge itself in my memory forever.

Eugh. Some people just don’t understand proper artistry. At that, I glance over to my boxbots’ little frowny faces. Yeah, some people just don’t get it.

As I step out from behind the back of a dumpster and push my way through an iron fence, Ricky’s Rotor & Motor Parts’ giant building sits in all its glory. Or, well, whatever the opposite of glory is.

It’s a giant building, elevated levels exposed to the air and supported by thick steel beams. Cars peek out from the top of every outcropping, in all sorts of colors and shapes, like a tantalizing bounty just waiting for me to snatch.

But I shake myself out of it, because what looks like a prize is actually the hanging lure of an anglerfish. When I look closer at the building, the security systems I’d read that maniac on VillsNet ranting about are obvious.

Between the used car dealership aesthetic and the glow of the giant lit signs, I can see the cameras fastened in every dimly-lit nook and cranny of the exterior. They sway subtly as their watching eyes record every passerby, and more importantly, every would-be thief slipping into their building.

Being the most popular dealership and repair shop combo in Mantis City, they’re the number-one target for every tinker or machinist wanting to create a legion of doom out of a quantity of high quality parts. Even the most prepared of fiends would struggle, and honestly, the people who’d preceded me in attempting to rob it are not that.

First time villains trying to take a crack at something way above their level? Commonplace. But I, I’m going to be different. Because I have a plan. A plan with no way to fail! I outstretched my hand, pointing a daring finger towards the building…

And my devilish army of boxbots click-clack as they charge forwards, clambering past the road and navigating through the urban environment with ease! Well, not all of them do it with ease, but most of them do, so it counts!

I wince as a boxbot tries to ascend a wall with its grasper-feet and falls to the ground halfway up, impacting it with a crash and getting up with a hefty dent in its square head. Poor guy. Thankfully, the failures are few and far in-between, in comparison to the successes.

The only thing I really need is for them to snatch the spare parts from wherever they repair the cars- I’d assume on the first floor, because why would they move the cars any higher when they don’t have to?

… okay, fine, I didn’t really think that hard about it. There’s just no ramps or any other obvious way to drive upward, so it was a common-sense conclusion. Sue me, it won’t work- it’s a well known fact that lawyers are all evil, and therefore on my team!

I cackle maniacally at both my joke and my boxbots’ progress, before I hush myself after the noise blares from my speakers. Not exactly conducive to stealth, maniacal evil laughter- but you have to make sacrifices on the altar of style on occasion.

I stand there menacingly, lurking in the alleyway for what is clearly enough time for my devious minions to strip that little treasure-trove clean… And yet, they’re not returning with my scrap! I tap my foot impatiently as I simply stare in disbelief- the nerve of my minions to dilly-dally like this!

It only takes a second for the clear stupidity of that statement to click in my mind. They’re robots- souped-up robots, sure, but they’re following instructions. They don’t get lazy, they don’t feel anything at all- the only thing that could explain why they’re not returning is…

A hero must have blocked their path!

I charge out of the shadows in an instant, barreling past the cars in the parking lot as I swerve from the isolated wall my army scaled to being in full-view of the doors, smashing through the glass with a crash. Near-instantly, the area around me is bathed in a harsh red light, the sound of sirens blaring at maximum volume filling the room in the wake of my entrance.

“Ohshit, ohshit-” I hear someone squeak out before they bolt through a door further into the building, my head swiveling just in time to see the tail end of their exit. This late at night, there’s way less people than usual in the building, but that isn’t enough to save me from the mixed reactions of the employees sweeping the floors and whatever else they do at this ungodly hour.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“On the floor, citizens!” I boom, the crackling sound of my words barely bleeding through the sirens. They all get to the ground -thank God for that, because I have no way of stopping them if they don’t- and put their hands behind their backs at another shouted order from me.

I gallivant around the room while they cower on the ground, twisting through the rows of cars on display and searching for a way into the repair-shop section of the place… to no avail. My head slowly turns to the people in the shop, and I scan over them before settling on a single one to stomp over to.

I stand over the man, the harsh glare of my headlamps bathing him in a violet glow for just a second before I’m interrupted by a shout of almost equal volume to my own.

“Get the fuck away from him, scumbag!” I hear, the sound of rushed footsteps accompanied by a slight whistle in the wind-

Before I’m stumbling back, reeling from the impact of something heavy slamming into my helmet. The sheer force of it takes me out of it for a while, and when I tilt my head up, I’m greeted by a hulking figure.

Their head is concealed by what looks to be a silver fencer’s helmet, a wide-brimmed but chipped iron cap covering the top-portion of the mesh covering their face. The iron continues to coat the rest of their bulk, uneven shoulderplates leading down to armored sleeves and heavy gauntlets with spiked knuckles. Finally, their legs are covered in patchy chainmail, with enormous spiky leather boots on each foot. From the holes and punctures in their outfit, their tanned skin and burly musculature peeks out.

I don’t have time to observe anything more as they go for a heavy blow, the movement clearly telegraphed by a long build-up. That doesn’t help much, though, because I lock up at the sight of the incoming attack.

My faceplate dents, digging into my cheek with a flash of searing-hot pain. My footwork is hurried, and I barely avoid crashing into the side of a car as I grab onto it and get my bearings. The hostages I can see scurry away, frantically forcing themselves through the shards of glass at the foot of the entrance and to a gathering of the signature maroon cars of SecForce.

I don’t have time to dwell on that, because they aren’t keen on stopping. I take a quick second to rally my boxbots to my location with an outgoing signal, but that’s no help to me in the immediate future.

And, if things keep looking the way they are, that’ll be the only future I need to care about. I clench my pinky finger to reveal my half-finished wrist-cannon as he approaches me again, speaking out to buy myself time as it clunkily grinds into position. Need to work on speeding that up, wait, fuck, can’t be thinking about that right now!

“So, hero- you may think you have defeated the mighty Mechanism, but it is I who will triumph in this engagement-”

“Shut up and get bent, tin can!” the now identifiably masculine voice bites out, lunging towards me without preamble. As he’s moving towards me like a rocket, he’s still sputtering out words. “Guess if we’re honoring each other with names, I’m Gladiator! Better-” he swings at me, and I jolt back barely in time to avoid my head getting caved in-

“Commit it to memory, cus’ you’ll be thinkin’ bout my win from your jail cell!” The end of his sentence is punctuated by the click of my blaster slotting into place, popping from its cover and buzzing with a distorted sound.

The lug across from me clearly isn’t as stupid as his brawn makes him out to be, because he steps back cautiously at the noise. With another flex of my index finger, it shoots out a sickly violet beam of light, cutting into his side and then solidifying. The large chunk of purple rubber fastens itself onto him, and with a twitch of my middle finger while I press my gauntlet to the ground, the other side of the tube is safely secured to the ground.

“What was that again, Gladiator?” I announce mockingly, my mouth curling into a smile behind my battered helmet. It might not have been easy, but I just won. There’s no way he’s getting out of that, not without someone else helping him.

“I was sayin’, ‘you’ll be thinkin’ bout my win from a jail cell, cus you’re fucked!” He screams, and just when I think I’m safe I’m screaming out as well. The back half of my power suit is cleaved open by something, a line of boiling fire singing my back as it grazes important internals.

When my head turns, I see the guy I was looming over earlier. I recognize the ‘New Kentucky’s Motorcycle Championship’ t-shirt, the ratty jeans, everything. I swing haphazardly at his head and instead crash into his arm, the impact enough to make a sharp cracking sound. The man screams and crumples to the ground.

The pang of guilt I feel isn’t enough to stop me from bolting out the back-exit while they’re both distracted, one last glance at the door letting me see the unnamed civilian helping Gladiator wriggle out of my trap.

I slam the door closed, adrenaline pumping like mad, and bolt as far as I can.

Oh my god. I just fought a superhero. I just got beat by a superhero. Do I have a nemesis? Oh my god, I just hurt someone, this wasn’t what I planned, why was that so fun-

A billion questions blaze in my mind, but I snuff them all out. I need to get home. Back to my safe-space. I need to figure out why my damn boxbots didn’t do their job -I’m thinking programming error or a misjudgement on my part- and how I can soup up my suit to be ready the next time this stuff happens.

And most of all… I need to figure out how to actually be a supervillain. Because as it stands right now, I’m decently sure that the Mechanism is just one of the two-bit crooks you see on the TV in handcuffs.

And if there's one thing I won’t accept, it’s failing at this. I can’t stop. I’ve been working on this suit for a whole year, and with a single fight, I have dozens of new ideas to improve it. I can build myself to be better. I can. I just need the parts.

I breathe in, I breathe out. My vision is a sea of spiderweb-cracks, and my armor is more damaged than it should be able to handle, but I’ve still got everything under control. Whatever medical stuff that guy has will fix up his arm, and that Gladiator guy clearly has some sort of irregular constitution.

This wasn’t a failure, really. No, I’d consider it more of a learning opportunity. An opportunity to learn how not to suck. And I think after some repairs and new innovations, the Mechanism will be ready… to return!