“The not-so-good Doctor is all set up,” Hawke said. “You are cleared to infiltrate.”

“Good. You been reading Ragnarok’s book?”

“Yeah, except Helena took our only physical copy,” Hawke said. “I had to spend seven dollars on the ebook.”

“Oh. I can, uh, get you back for that, if you want.”

“Nah, it’s fine, this is actually an interesting read,” Hawke said. “You remember that Agent Fleming jerk who showed up two years ago? Apparently Skye’s dad almost dropped him in lava once.”

“Fascinating,” Vell said. “What’s it say about starting one of these things?”

“Oh right, yeah,” Hawke said. “Okay, apparently step one is the ‘information gathering and infiltration’. I think you’re supposed to like, interrogate his minions to find out where his base is and then break into it.”

“Makes sense.”

“I can tell you right now there’s a suspiciously death-ray shaped cloaking field on the roof of the senior dorms,” Hawke said.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Vell said. Doc Ragnarok’s cloaking tech was advanced, but the loopers had some pretty advanced observation equipment as well. “I think that’s too easy though, right? I’m trying to give Skye some bonding time with her dad here, we need to do things the long way.”

“If you insist,” Hawke said. “Samson, any ideas on how to do things the old fashioned way?”

“You might start with the generic eastern european goons lurking around the dining hall,” Samson said. He forwarded a picture to Vell, showing off a table of middle-aged men sitting around one of the tables, smoking cigars and playing poker.

“Those definitely look like henchmen,” Vell said. “I’ll go check it out.”

Even if they weren’t related to the apocalypse, a random group of middle-aged men hanging around a college campus was suspicious. Vell headed for the dining hall, stepped through the doors, and adjusted his tux as he approached the table.

“Gentlemen,” he began. “This is a non-smoking campus.”

“Ve are not stoodents,” one of the smooking goons grunted, in one of the deepest pseudo-slavic accents Vell had ever heard. He briefly considered asking if the accent was genuine, or part of the role, but thought that might be offensive.

“The rules apply all the same,” Vell said. “If you’re not students, then why are you here?”

“Vork.”

“What kind of v- work?”

“De none of yor beeznees kind,” another mook toned.

“On this campus, everything’s my business,” Vell said. He didn’t want it to be, most of the time, but it ended up that way anyway.

“Mebbe you lurn noddo steeck nose where idon belon.”

“Okay, I’ve been trying not to bring it up, but that’s beyond the pale,” Vell said. “That accent is fake, right? You’re all just playing up the fake mook role?”

The smoking henchmen shared a nervous glance, and one of them pulled a walkie talkie out of their track suit jacket.

“He’s on to us! Accelerate the plan!”

“Ha! I knew the accents were fake,” Vell said. His good mood was short-lived, as all the of goons at the table stood up, fists clenched, and squared their shoulders towards him.

“Should’ve minded your own ‘beeznees’, stretch,” one of them grunted.

“I’ve never been...I, ah, screw it, pretend I said something witty,” Vell said. “So what are the rules on this part, is it like, pin-based, or is there a flag football type of thing-”

One of the goons dove into Vell for a full-body tackle, and then punched him in the face while he was on the ground.

“Okay, full contact,” Vell grunted. “Seems a little harsh for a-”

Another punch to the face shut him up, and made Vell realize this was not the time to be talking. He covered his face to block another punch and rolled out from underneath the thug who had him pinned, before spinning around to kick him in the gut.

“Hawke, this got a little bit loud,” Vell said. “Could you call Kim and tell her-”

Vell got grabbed by the shoulders, lifted off the ground, and then slammed into a table hard enough to snap it in two. Though he never finished his sentence, Hawke assumed Vell’s intent from the context clues, and from the faint sound of punching in the background.

Kim had been scouting out potential disasters close by, so it did not take her long to arrive on the scene and pry Vell out from underneath a mountain of track-suits. A robot with flaming fists was more than any of the hired goons had signed on for, so they dispersed after a few of their own were knocked unconscious burning punches. Once she was sure they were all scared off, Kim helped a heavily-bruised Vell off the ground and wiped some blood off his chin.

“Damn. You’re lucky I saw the other twelve guys or I’d think you got your ass beat,” Kim said.

“Yeah, I think I did alright,” Vell groaned. “Christ, though, what was with that? I thought the goons were supposed to rush me one at a time, at least.”

“You’d think so,” Kim said. That was the usual henchmen approach. “Maybe Doc Ragnarok actually does know you’re dating his daughter. Wanted some guys to beat your ass about it.”

“He just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy,” Vell said. “If only because he’s weirdly obsessed with being an old-school supervillain.”

Vell popped an illusion rune that would disguise the bruises, and the damage to his tuxedo, and got back on track.

“Speaking of his weird obsession,” Vell said. He popped his runic scanning glasses out of a pocket and did a quick scan of the unconscious guards. “There we go.”

Vell plucked a keycard from the coat pocket of one of the unconscious guards.

“In retrospect, I probably should’ve just scanned first and tried to pickpocket this,” Vell said. “Something to keep in mind for next loop.”

“I think we’d all prefer you not get your ass beat,” Kim said. “Are you really sure you’re still on board with this, after aforementioned ass-beating?”

“I have to see this through,” Vell said. “I’m sure it was all some mix-up on Doc’s part.”

“I sure hope so,” Kim said. “That dude’s probably going to be your father-in-law someday.”

The illusion that hid the bruises on Vell’s face was not quite powerful enough to disguise the redness in his cheeks. He set off without a word and headed for the senior dorms, and the invisible death ray atop them.

----------------------------------------

“We did try to make the relationship work, but ultimately we just didn’t work out in the long-term,” Doc Ragnarok said. “We set up a very amicable co-parenting arrangement, and Skye is an absolute delight, so it all worked out in the long run. But still, don’t ever try to mix dating and mad science. It’s a field that requires absolute commitment.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Fascinating,” Helena said. She had no idea how Doc Ragnarok had managed to segue “mad science advice” into a discussion about Skye’s mother, but somehow he had pulled it off. “Now, about the death ray...”

“Oh, yes, that,” Doc began. He gestured to the massive laser beam currently being constructed in the core of their makeshift lair. “Now, obviously, the retrofuturist look is borrowed from old pulp sci-fi, but I did personalize it with the addition of those dorsal ridges, and the ventilation gaps near the beam emitters, all to resemble the fins and gills of a shark. It lends a certain menace to the design, and Skye absolutely adores sharks, which is a nice bonus.”

“Yes, very adorable,” Helena said. “But how does it function? What puts the ‘death’ in ‘death ray’?”

Doc Ragnarok did a quick double take between the death ray and Helena.

“This one? Nothing,” Doc said. “This is a practice exercise, Ms. Marsh, that ‘death ray’ is just a light emitter, essentially a very powerful laser pointer. I suppose you could blind somebody with it if they started right into the beam, but otherwise harmless.”

“Of course it is,” Helena said. She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

“Hey dad, you still in the death ray room?”

“Yes, Skye, what do you need?”

“Just thought you should know Vell’s on his way,” Skye shouted. “Coming by the main entrance.”

“Oh a frontal assault, very bold,” Doc Ragnarok said, as he hustled towards the center of his lair. “It is a shame he won’t see all the work we put into the ventilation system or underground entrance routes, though.”

“I’ll let him know about the laser grid later,” Skye said. “He and I, uh, talk. Sometimes. We hang out on occasion.”

“Well let’s give you something to really talk about,” Doc said. “He’s nearly at the main entrance.”

Doc Ragnarok got into position in his big fancy villain chair, crossed his legs, and waited as the lock on the door clicked. Then clicked again. And again. The handle jiggled slightly as Vell tried it out, but it was still locked, and the lock clicked once more as he tried it again. After a momentary pause, the door was torn off its hinges by a sudden burst of force, and Vell stepped through, standing atop the fallen door.

“Your door’s broken,” Vell said. “And not just because I broke it. Like, the lock didn’t work.”

“A momentary delay that makes you too late, Vell Harlan,” Doc Ragnarok shouted, hamming it up with full force. “Now, fall!”

A trap door beneath Vell’s feet opened up, which might have worked were it not for the fallen door acting as a bridge across the pit. Vell looked down and shrugged.

“Note to self, put pitfall traps further away from doors,” Doc Ragnarok mumbled. “No matter! Deploy the contingencies!”

Two hatches on the wall opened up and revealed cannons aimed at Vell, and he dodged out of the way of two nets fired at him. Next up, two robotic drones came rushing at him, grasping claws at the ready, and Vell grabbed one to swing it at the other, shattering both. The quick swing saved him from the robots, but made him easy prey for a forcefield that descended from the ceiling. He bumped an elbow into the glowing field surrounding him, and found it impenetrable.

“That should keep you contained,” Doc Ragnarok said. “Ms. Marsh! Escort him to the viewing chamber. I want him to watch my plan unfold.”

“As you wish,” Helena said. She tapped one of her crutches into the forcefield, and it started moving out of the central lab and down a side hallway. Doctor Ragnarok watched it move with a smug smile on his face. Once Vell was out of sight, he dropped the smile, and his supervillain persona, entirely.

“Well that was quite good,” Doc noted. “Dodging the first trap was a bit of an accident, yes, but the next two, very skillful.”

“I feel like he should have said something, though,” Skye said. “Asked you what you were planning, made a quip about escaping, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, that would’ve been nice, yes,” Doc Ragnarok said. “But frankly those exchanges can get a little trite, once you’ve done a few dozen there’s really no benefit to the banter. We both know why he’s here.”

“I thought you liked the banter.”

“I like good banter,” Doc said. “If the man’s heart isn’t in it, I don’t want him to force it. That’s how you get cliches.”

----------------------------------------

“I feel like I should’ve said something,” Vell said. “At least like, ‘you’ll never get away with this’, or something like that.”

“Oh no,” Helena said. “Haven’t you read this book?”

Helena held up her copy of Doc Ragnarok’s supervillain guide.

“That’s one of the biggest cliches to avoid,” Helena said. “You’re the one who should know these things, you’re the hero.”

“I skimmed, I have a lot going on,” Vell said. He kicked the side of the forcefield again, and found it impermeable as ever. “So. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Barring Doc Ragnarok’s fatherly streak, yes, actually,” Helena said. “I could see myself doing this for a living. If I live.”

Vell bit his tongue. Helena had a way of making even the most casual chats a matter of life and death -though he supposed everything actually was a matter of life and death when a person was dying.

“There’s entire schools for this, you know, death ray workshops, speech classes focused on evil monologuing, the whole deal.”

Vell did know. Skye had given him some basic details on the courses now and then. Kraid had even attended some of them for a year or two, before getting expelled for being too evil for evil school.

“So, uh...on a related note,” Vell said. “All that stuff you said about being ‘driven to evil’.”

“Oh. I was just telling Doc Ragnarok what he needed to hear, obviously.”

Helena opened the door to a rooftop chamber with a view of Doc Ragnarok’s death ray, and shuttled the forcefield containing Vell into the center of the room. She tapped one of her crutches against the forcefield to remind Vell of his captive state.

“If I were really evil, I’d be using this opportunity to, say, experiment on your rune without your permission and accidentally kill you,” Helena said. “I’m not my sister, Vell.”

Vell nodded. He already knew that well enough -and it was exactly what worried him.

“You did blow me up that one time,” Vell said.

“For impersonal reasons. That was science,” Helena said. “Sure, reckless, maybe. Stupid, maybe a little. But not evil.”

“When you refuse to learn from them, recklessness and stupidity can be evil.”

“Actually, according to this great book I’m reading,” Helena said, holding aloft the supervillain handbook again. “Evil is just a word used by entrenched powers to derogate anything that challenges their hegemony.”

“That’s...an interpretation, I guess.”

“Doc’s a smart guy,” Helena said. “Speaking of, I need to ask him about his forcefield tech, that seems pretty sturdy.”

Helena walked away, leaving Vell alone in the viewing room, surrounded by the forcefield. He took a seat, poked the walls once more, and decided to leave it for a bit. “Planning his escape” was probably the best excuse to sit and catch his breath he’d get any time soon, and he desperately needed a bit of rest. His ribs still hurt from getting tackled by those goons earlier.

The respite, while much needed, was brief, as Vell soon found himself with another visitor. Thankfully, this one was of the more pleasant variety.

“Vell, hey,” Skye said. “Just checking in, you’re doing great so far.”

“Am I doing great? I’m in a forcefield.”

Vell tapped the translucent wall of energy.

“Getting captured doesn’t feel great.”

“Oh, everybody gets captured,” Skye assured him. “It’s part of the bit. Gives you a chance to pull off a cool escape.”

“Alright. Makes sense, I guess,” Vell said. He looked around his forcefield cage. “Are there any risks I should know about? Like, is any part of this going to electrocute me?”

“What? No, that’d be ridiculously unsafe,” Skye said.

“Yeah, well, those thugs of yours weren’t particularly safe either.”

Skye tilted her head like a confused puppy.

“Thugs?”

“Yeah, those slavic guys with fake accents,” Vell said. “The ones with the keycard, which, by the way, didn’t even work.”

“Vell, what are you talking about,” Skye said. “We don’t have any human minions -except Helena, I guess. You were supposed to find some drones in the robotics lab.”

“Well if they weren’t...hold on,” Vell said. “If there’s another bunch of thugs, and another key, doesn’t that mean there’s another-”

For the second time today, Vell was cut off by a thunderous crashing of waves. Thanks to the viewing chamber’s strategic vantage, he could see the waves part just offshore, revealing another towering skull-shaped structure rising from the water, but this time much larger, much darker, and much skullier. The massive structure was nearly as tall as the dorms they were on top of, and much like Doc Ragnarok’s lair, the peak had a very large raygun on top, aimed directly at them.

“There you are, you layabout traitor,” boomed a voice from within the skull-shaped fortress. “Cease your playacting and come witness true villainy!”

“What the fuck,” Skye said. “Dad!”

Dad was already on his way, and barreled through the door momentarily. He ran to the massive viewing window and pounded a fist into it.

“Bastard,” Doc Ragnarok mumbled under his breath. “Skye, we need to get out of here.”

“What about Vell?’

“Has he not escaped yet?” Doc said. He looked over his shoulder and saw Vell. “Oh, sorry, I’d assumed you got out already.”

Doc Ragnarok pressed a button and released the forcefield around Vell.

“You might be thwarting an actual supervillain today, Mr. Harlan,” Doc said. “That’s Mi-Go, an old colleague. Never really got over the fact that I quit.”

“Oh, Mi-Go, I remember him,” Skye said. “A real pioneer in genetic hybridization.”

The raygun aimed in their direction fired, bathing the room, and the entire island, in a blast of sickly green light. When the deathly glow finally cleared, Vell looked down at his hands, or rather at the pointed crab claws where his hands had once been. Skye and Doc Ragnarok had a similar set of misshapen, crablike appendages, and odd leathery wings sprouting from their slimy flesh.

“Not again,” Doc Ragnarok grunted from his new beak.

“I sure hope he worked on his genetic stabilization matrices,” Skye said. “Or else-”

Vell’s arm popped off his body and started melting on the ground.

“Or else that.”

Thankfully their brains melted first, so the rest of the melting didn’t hurt much.