The fact that the assembly looked more like a support group than an official meeting hinted at its humble origins. Just a few decades ago, in a room much like this one, those present were only starting out their careers of evil and crime.
Except nowadays they were not quite “present”, but “tele-present”. No one could afford anymore to appear in the same place as other high-ranking supervillains. The opportunity would be too great for the numerous rivals and nemeses to squash the whole bunch: exterminate multiple threats in a single precise strike. No, those in the room were teleconferencing via screens and crystal balls, astral projecting, phasing in from a side reality, running a local mind copy, using robot bodies and magical constructs or just plain phoning in.
The only members present fully and bodily were the interpreter for Queen Zambia; a newcomer--the invulnerable hulk called Brick; and him . . .
“Welcome to the 34th annual gathering of Supervillains for the Better Future,” Sir Grim intoned, taking over from Grand Planner who would preside for his eleventh year. Unfortunately, GP was indisposed, serving a life sentence at a highly secret location.
A disparate round of applause followed. Many abstained, as expected from a group of radical individualists and nonconformists.
“As always, let’s begin by walking through the year’s results . . .” Sir Grim continued.
As he went on, only half of the eyes (scanners, antennae, receptors and other directed sensors) were on him. The others’ gazes darted to and from the musclebound man in a flashy silvery-white suit who sat, brooding, in the circle with everyone else. To his right, Robomech remained unusually still (which only those knowing the machineperson the closest could distinguish from zir usual stillness). To his left, the Ragnarök’s raven representative kept as far from its neighbor as it could.
“Who’s that?” Brick whispered to Shadowquest, an incorporeal being who joined the group the year prior.
“Are you street-level or something?” she whispered back. “That’s Pacifist.”
Brick was a street-level thug. The fact they let him in was thanks to the Future Fresh Perspectives program proposed at the gathering five years ago. Shadowquest was also a beneficiary of FFPP, but in the order of superbeings her space-level (even low orbit) beat his street-level (even high crime).
“Isn’t he a superhero?” Brick asked after a pause. "I mean, the cape--"
“Not if he’s here he ain’t,” Shadowquest shrugged. “The rumors were true I guess.”
Brick wanted to ask about it, but didn’t get a chance.
“And now that you’re all good and bored,” Sir Grim raised his voice, dispelling the meeting-induced drowsiness, “Let’s hear some proposals.”
“You all should know that--” Pacifist spoke suddenly, producing a few jolts.
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He wasn’t allowed to continue. “I propose a proclamation,” Queen Zambia’s interpreter translated the golden gynoid's urgent speech. “We must announce ourselves to the world, so that--”
“Please, listen,” Pacifist interrupted "I know that you--"
"We should also bring Harbinger into the fold," Ancient Warrior raised his voice, heard from an old-style telephone receiver.
Brick couldn’t believe his ears as major supervillains spoke over each other like a bunch of schoolkids. Everything he knew from his criminal career, his honed and practiced sense of gang politics, was telling him one thing: they were afraid. They were afraid to even hear him speak.
"What, is he a hypnotist?" Brick asked Shadowquest who looked just as confused.
"He's your regular flying brick," she shrugged. "Um, no offense."
"I know what you're trying to do--" Pacifist spoke again, standing up. With his massive frame, he was suddenly taking up more space.
All heads (cameras, dishes, stalks and other sensory clusters) swiveled in his direction. Then in the direction of Brick.
Who found himself also standing.
Stupid, thought Brick without giving it away. It was a reflexive, impulsive response to a challenge to his authority. Usually it produced a ripple in any crowd he found himself in. And if the opponent’s goons backed off in sync with their leader flinching, the confrontation would be over right then and there.
Not this crowd, though.
And not this opponent.
Pacifist was looking at him with a strange, emphatic expression. The hero seemed about to smile, maybe even tear up. He stepped towards Brick, his pose open and relaxed.
"I just want to warn you--" Pacifist started saying, the image of relief.
But in a flash and a blast, there was no one to say it to.
In place of Brick, it was a small crater in the room's floor, only the dust settling on its surface. Multiple supervillains had contributed to the total destruction. Queen Zambia's arm was in the gun mode, the barrel already dimming from its active blue glow. Sir Grim's astral body was a powerful enough focus to deliver a ninth-level spell, with plenty to choose from. Ragnarök's raven was nowhere to be found: more than a familiar, it was also a one-shot weapon of last resort. There were at least five more figures in attack positions.
Shadowquest was covering her mouth in shock.
Pacifist froze, his face fallen.
He looked around, but didn't say a word. Neither did anyone. As they met his gaze, full of disappointment and grief, his eyes only found fear. The realization dawned: no matter how he tried, there was no chance they'd listen.
Finally, a minute or an eternity later, he left, shattering the closed iris of the ceiling gate.
The 34th annual gathering of the Supervillains for the Better Future was basically ruined.
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