How I got so good at my job, you ask?
Simple. I follow five simple rules.
1. Always wear a mask.
2. Never hurt civilians.
3. Never kill the heroes you’re paid to fight.
4. And the bad guy always loses.
5. NEVER let emotions take control.
Seems pretty obvious, right? Well, you’d be shocked at how many morons messed it up. And if you did, you were either just a thug, or a member of The New Order, and those lunatics were a whole ’nother can of worms.
See, if you wanted a peaceful life outside of suiting up, you needed to follow the rules.
Anyone could menace Metro City with a gigantic death ray, but when the death ray blew up, the lair was in ruins, and the heroes were hunting you down, you couldn’t exactly stop by the local coffee shop and pick up a muffin and a frappe.
You’d not only have the heroes on your ass, but the cops, and probably even a bunch of government spooks.
Besides, there was no money in it.
Most people thought villainy was like Dr. Douche bag (or was it demeanour), with his floating castle and army of robotic minions, but that guy had both his own small European country and diplomatic immunity with which to menace Captain Fantastic.
Me? I had an apartment, a costume, and a bank account always on the verge of empty.
But them’s the breaks. And it beat prison.
Fortunately, freelance villainy was always in very high demand.
A lot of heroes had their brand deals, and those brands demanded exposure.
Most heroes were walking endorsements, and they needed to be seen doing good. But there were never enough alien invasions to fill out the calendar.
Weeks could go by without some lunatic getting his hands on a doomsday device, and what are heroes supposed to do in the downtime? There are only so many muggers.
That’s where I came in.
I was the filler villain. The New Order weren’t exactly lining up to knock over banks and take over stadiums.
Those guys generally had their arch enemies to menace or real super villainous plots to carry out.
Basically how the organisation worked in my previous world, but that was in the far past.
But heroes needed something to fight in the downtime. I was that.
The monster of the week who fought the good guys and vanished after one episode.
The floater villain who showed up across comic books for maybe an issue to demonstrate the new hero’s powers, get beat, and make way for a recurring antagonist.
It was a decent pay with little responsibilities and a certain monotonous freedom I lived for.
I had no ’arches’ and I wasn’t part of anyone’s rogue gallery.
I was non-exclusive, and could show up anywhere, menace anyone, all for a reasonable price.
It was tough work, but someone had to do it. And it paid fairly well.
I yawned, popped my shoulder with a shrug. Oof! That was gonna be stiff tomorrow. I shouldn’t have taken that fire blast head on like that, but hey, that’s what people liked to see.
And being Polaris wasn’t the worst job in the world. Best a guy like me could get with a criminal record.
Yuppp, even through world the criminal past followed me.
And you needed a particular kind of person to do this job, and do it well. Not too many people can take the hits the right way.
A notable percentage of those who got into the business did so because they liked getting their ass beat by a goddess in latex.
You could always pick out those kinds, usually by the copious amount of leather they use for their costume. But me, I was a professional.
No bullshit. No baggage.
I went in, caused havoc, lost, and vanished while swearing vengeance that’d be useful to puff up the next encounter. It was a pretty good job.
Besides, it was fun.
Sure, I got my ass kicked by heroes all the time, but could you imagine a job where you get to not only concoct evil schemes, but carry them out? Some guys did the bare minimum.
Hold the mayor hostage, maybe throw a few cars around, but that was beginner stuff. Above all else, you had to make the menace look good.
And I made it look good.
Walking down the street with a coffee as a reward for a job well done, I didn’t strike fear into the hearts of mortals. Sure, I was fit, maybe even a bit handsome though I wore the helmet when at work, but in non-supes dress, I tried not to draw the eye more than necessary.
Certainly not as the type of person who strokes a Snidely Whiplash mustache and plots the downfall of his foes, complete with copious property damage. Out of costume, I was just a guy.
And that’s the way I liked it.
I heard my phone go off and flipped it out. "Hello?"
"Excellent work, Miles!"
I grinned. "Thanks, Miss Lacey. Just the usual."
"Quite so. Ms Fire was quite happy, and even managed to plug the new flame resistant cling laundry pads that Razer has been working on. But would you mind stopping by the office?"
My smile fell a little. Uh oh. That was never good... "I ah—"
"Great! See you in ten."
She hung up.
Shit! She never had me stop by right after a job unless she had a complaint, or was working some angle. And considering how pleased she sounded, I doubted it was the former.
I picked up my car and drove uptown, reaching Razer Industry’s building in short order.
Glazed with black glass, it towered with art deco arches and windows like the Chrysler Building crossed with an iPhone and Sauron’s Tower.
A mass of dark, corporate power surrounded by cement, some trees, and a couple panhandlers near the fountain with a giant sleek R as the centerpiece.
Allegedly, the whole thing was built back in the 1880’s when superpowers first began appearing during the age of scientific discovery, when men first managed to build the sorts of science whose accidents can cause people to melt steel with their eyes, or disfigure themselves with the more interesting acids.
I didn’t know much about that, but Razer was the biggest heroic marketing company in the country, if not the world.
As I walked inside some security goons in tight sweaters, high collars, nametags and holstered guns nodded stiffly at me from behind the massive desk that loomed over the lobby.
If I couldn’t sense everything metallic in that room, I’d have sworn those people were robots.
Not entirely uncommon with the bigger corps. Kept the headcount down and you didn’t need to cover dental. I hit the elevator for the fifth floor.
The other people in there gave me looks. I must have still smelled like ionized air. Haah. If only I could have gone home and got changed first, but that ship had sailed.
Lacey was not a woman you kept waiting.