A Henchman Screwed Up

A lone henchmen in a yellow jumpsuit paced back and forth outside his boss's office. He knew what it was about. The bank job.

It was supposed to be flawless with no casualties. They had a man on the inside and all that needed to be done was take the money. Unfortunately, not all jobs go according to plan.

"I am ready for you, Jenkins," Jaster called to his henchman.

Jenkins took a deep breath and opened the door, seeing Jaster leaning back in his comfy chair. He noticed his red tie was loosened and seemed rather relaxed, despite the major screw up that happened yesterday.

"Take a seat." Jaster motioned to the chair on the other side of his paper ridden desk.

Jenkins gingerly approached and sat down, avoiding eye contact. He was sure his boss's calm demeanor was going to snap at any moment. There was silence between them for a few seconds before Jaster realized Jenkins wasn't going to say anything, unless prompted.

"Do you know why you are here?" Jaster asked.

Jenkins lifted his head up to face his fear. He knew better than to disrespect his employer. "Because of my failure at the bank job."

"I wouldn't call what you did a failure, but it has complicated things."

"What can I do to make amends, sir?"

Jaster chuckled and turned his monitor toward Jenkins. "I think you need to see this."

On the screen there were several caped heroes standing around a large monitor. Those heroes were watching surveillance footage of the bank job. The surveillance footage showed the moment Jenkins screwed up big time. He had the cash in a briefcase and was almost out the door when three blue clad heroes stopped in front of him.

Two of the heroes were a young man and woman, no older than twenty. They both had blonde hair and were clearly siblings. The hero in the middle was a muscular, elderly gentleman who wore a white skullcap on his head and wielded a wrench the size of a sledgehammer. Jenkins didn't need to watch to know what happened next.

"Stop right there," the elderly hero said.

Jenkins pulled out his handgun and shakily pointed it at the heroes, which was met with laughter.

"What do you think you are going to do with that?" The younger man proclaimed, almost doubled over laughing.

"I guess he hasn't heard of us," the woman said between breaths.

The elderly man spun the wrench in his hands and smiled. "Put the gun down and I won't cripple you for life."

"Move aside old man! I don't want to hurt you."

"Chrissy. Carl." The elderly man said to his sidekicks. "Would you like to do the honors this time?"

"Gladly."

Before Jenkins could react, Chrissy and Carl appeared on both sides of him and held his arms. Jenkins tried to resist, but their grip on him only tightened as he struggled. He tried to pull the trigger out of desperation, but Carl's hand slid along Jenkins's forearm, up to his hand and broke his trigger finger.

Jenkins screamed in pain and dropped the suitcase, but stubbornly held onto the gun.

"Drop the gun too, or I'll break another finger," Carl ordered.

"Hey, save some fingers for me, bro," Chrissy said.

"Take it easy you two. He's just a henchman. Save it for a real villain." The elderly man marched up to him and lifted Jenkins's head up with his giant wrench. "I'm giving you a chance to walk away. All you have to do is tell me who hired you."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can." The elderly man glanced at the gun still shaking in Jenkins hand. "Drop the gun. Let's talk this out."

Jenkins closed his eyes and did as he was told. The gun clattered to the ground and discharged three times. Jenkins flinched as the shots went off and the three heroes fell to the floor. In a panic, Jenkins picked up the briefcase and ran for the door. The surveillance footage cut out as Jenkins accidentally kicked his own gun, which shot out the camera in the bank. It was all the heroes in the room needed to see to come to their own conclusion.

"He is no henchman," one of the heroes chimed in.

"Clearly that was an accident," another hero said, pointing at the now blank screen. "Guns are dangerous."

"That was no accident. A gun doesn't fall to the ground and mow down an entire family of heroes. It was intentional. He knew who he was facing and lured them into a false sense of security. We need to take this threat seriously. Even Jaster couldn't take out Wrenchman by himself."

There were murmurs among the group, all trying to talk at once before a different voice stood out from the bunch.

"What should we do now?" another hero asked.

Before any of the heroes could answer, Franz walked through the double doors, ready to answer that question. "Star Princess, I want you to check on Wrenchman's kids. They are in stable condition. Make sure they don't get any ideas of going on a vendetta."

"I hate when you use my hero name. Just call me–"

Franz put his finger over his lips. "Hero names only. I looked into Wrenchman's files. He was tracking this mystery man's communications for some time. This was a highly sophisticated job that required lots of resources. I wouldn't put it past whoever is behind this that they could have counter surveillance capability."

"You can't be serious? You think we have been bugged?"

"If they can have an inside man at the bank, why not here?"

Jaster turned the monitor away and shut it off, watching Jenkins's reaction. His terrified face stared back at Jaster.

"Boss…they think I am a super villain."

"They sure do."

"Bu–but I'm not. It was an accident."

Jaster nodded his head. "I know. In hindsight I should've never given you a gun for something so trivial. Now they are going to want blood for blood."

"They're gonna kill me?"

Jaster got up from his seat and went around the desk. He put his hand on Jenkins's shoulder. "You aren't going to die. I'll make sure of that."

"How?"

"Leave that to me. In the meantime, keep up the good work. I appreciate your dedication to discretion, but I won't put you in a position like that again."

Jenkins didn't know what to say, stunned to see he got off so easily. He heard stories of how henchmen were treated with other villains, so he expected such a screw up to yield similar results.

"Am I…free to go?"

"Of course, but not before a little word of advice," Jaster said.

Jenkins gulped, thinking this was it. Here comes the switcheroo.

"When you're outnumbered, surrender. Creates unnecessary health insurance claims."

"I have health insurance?" Jenkins asked in astonishment.

"Holy shit." Jaster went over to the door. "Jenny, did you not tell our new employees they have health benefits?"

Around the corner, there was frantic clicking of a keyboard. "Umm…it might have slipped my mind."

Jaster sighed. "Well you can't clock out until you have told everyone."

Dainty footsteps came rushing to the door as a red haired young woman came into the office. Her thick black frame glasses barely stayed on her nose as she hugged a clipboard.

"Please, Jaster. Can I do it tomorrow? I have a baseball game to go to with my boyfriend tonight."

"I recall buying you those tickets."

Jenny whimpered, doing her best impression of a sad puppy dog pout. Jaster wasn't one to succumb to such actions, but he hated his money going to waste. Also, Jenny was otherwise a great employee. No one quite handled accounting problems like she did, not to mention any errands he needed done in a hurry.

"Fine. For the record though, I still don't approve of your boyfriend. You can find better than him."

Jenny gave him a big hug. "Thank you! You're the best boss ever!"

"Don't say that too loud or everyone is going to think I've gone soft. It's a pain to have to assert my authority the old fashion way," Jaster said and got her off of him. She smiled up at him, waiting for him to finish his thought. "Get Jenkins a copy of his health insurance card so he can get that hand looked at."

"Will do!"

Jenkins watched as Jenny pranced off to get his card. It was strange working for a villain who seemed so… caring. Word on the street was Jaster was a ruthless villain who made heroes piss themselves at the mere mention of his name. The man he saw here was a far cry from the stories he was told.

Jaster turned back to look at Jenkins, noticing the confusion hidden in his eyes. Jaster knew of his own reputation and how important it was to maintain a balance of fear with respect.

"I want you to know, when you work for me, you are my family. I will treat you fairly and watch out for you. If you betray my family though, you will be dealt with." Jaster picked up a stress ball on his desk and crushed it with one hand. The ball made an audible pop and was doomed to never regain its original form as he tossed it in the garbage. "You understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Drop the sir stuff. Call me Jaster. Everyone else does."

***

Ethical Dilemma

It had been three years to the day that I had become a therapist. I didn't have a specific clientele I wanted to work with, unlike the rest of my graduating class. Where they wanted to work with couples or substance abuse victims, I wanted to be open to anyone who walked through my door. Little did I know the slogan, "No judgement, I'm here to help," actually brought only one type of clientele. Villains. 

My first client was Henry Shekler, who went by the moniker, Shredder. At first, all I could picture was the villain from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles show I used to watch as a kid. That image changed drastically over the course of a month. The more I learned about him, the less innocent he became.

He would go into extreme detail of the people he would kill down by the docks. Shredder was an appropriate name, given that his victims would be shredded into strips of meat that rivaled bacon. He even showed me pictures from his wallet. You would have sworn they were his children, the way he lit up showing off his kills. The worst part was, I didn't entirely believe him at first.

Henry worked a day job at a Halloween supply store, so I figured he was simply mixing up reality with his delusions. The pictures all were stylized, making the blood or graphic details less realistic looking. It all looked out of a movie, which he even admitted he was working on as a second job. Eventually, I felt the need to call him out on his delusions. He didn't take it well and stormed out of my office.

I thought I wasn't going to see him again, but like a lot of things, I was proven wrong. He came back the next day, interrupting my lunch to drop a literal head on my couch. I didn't need any more convincing that he was telling the truth at that point. Staring back at me was my ex-boyfriend's severed head in a sealed plastic bag. As you can expect, I freaked out.

"What the hell!" I said, falling back in my chair.

"You didn't believe me. Now do you?"

I brushed my half eaten sandwich off me and stood up to stare at the head he brought me. Bad memories rushed back to me. All the fighting. The abuse. The scars. I touched my side out of reflex, feeling the phantom pain I thought was long gone.

"What—why?"

"He was your ex, right? What better way to show my thanks than to kill that son of a bitch for you?"

"I never mentioned Kel to you."

"I know. Your parents did."

"You spoke to my parents?" I said, shocked once again by his actions.

"Of course. You would never tell me anything about you in our sessions, so I asked them. They are delightful by the way."

"I can't believe you talked to them. That is completely—"

"Insane?" he asked, shying away from me.

"Inappropriate."

"Whew, I was worried I went too far," he said, relaxing from my answer.

I pointed to Kel's severed head. "What do you think that is?"

"Justice."

"When did you believe in justice?"

"When I heard what he did to you."

I looked back at Kel's head and shuttered. The severed head or Henry's newfound knowledge did not bother me. It was reliving the horror I thought was gone when I saw Kel's face again. I had half a mind to do what Henry actually did to Kel. He certainly deserved it, but I didn't have it in me to commit such an act. 

Henry put his hand on my shoulder and it woke me up from my trance. I turned to face him, my eyes wandering to his bright blue eyes. My heart fluttered. I couldn't explain it, but at that moment, I was overwhelmed with a wave of emotions. Fear, anger, relief, and finally...desire. I broke all my ethics as a therapist that day and threw caution to the wind. He had done something no one would be willing to do, just to see me happy. If that isn't love, I don't know what is. 

Our lips collided and a jolt went through my whole body. His lips had a metallic taste, but it only made me want him more. I won't get into too much detail, but we definitely defiled my couch and made sure Kel was watching. It was the closest I would get to revenge, so I made it count.

After that day, he was no longer a client anymore. We dated for a few weeks, but I had made up my mind. He was my one and only. I didn't care if I lost my license, he made me happy and that was all there was to it. He was worried at first that his villain status would cause problems, but I reassured him I was devoted to him. My only request was that he not bring his work home, which he was happy to oblige. 

Our honeymoon phase lasted longer than normal, a whole two years to be exact. He was an attentive husband and I was willing to look past his killer nature to see the real man inside. We were living our best lives. I never got found out by the board and Henry even got me more clients. His work was solid and kept a smile on his face. Not sure if that meant more or less killing, but he was happy and that was all that mattered. 

It was all going great until today. I had a new client scheduled and he had quite the reputation.

"Jaster, please come in," I said to the man dressed in a slimming dark suit.

"Mrs. Shekler, I am glad you took the time to schedule me."

"It was no trouble. Are you another one of Henry's colleagues?"

"No, but he is the reason I am here."

"Excuse me?"

"That little monster of yours decided it would be a good idea to turn one of my minions into minced meat. I don't take kindly to my minions being killed, nor do I care for his sadistic methods."

"I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding."

"There isn't. This is more of a curiosity call at this point. The police are already at your house to arrest him. They will be here soon for you too...if our conversation doesn't go well."

I got up from my seat. "What do you want?"

"I want the list of your clients and dossiers made up for each one. Leave no details out."

"I can't do that."

"We both know you waved goodbye to ethics a long time ago, so don't try it."

"...I won't do it unless Henry goes free."

"That is out of my hands. You still have a chance to save yourself. Or else I can just take your records later?"

"My best insights are in my head, not written down anywhere. If you want real insight on these villains, you need me."

"How about this, I will arrange conjugal visits between you two."

I marched up to him and poked him in the chest. "No. He walks!"

"Fine. I'll have him killed in prison and the police will be here soon for you," Jaster said and turned to walk away. 

"No! Wait!" I screamed and fell to the floor. "Please...don't kill him."

"You have two weeks to complete them. If you get it done in one, I will get you those visits," Jaster said and left my office. 

I ran to my phone and called Henry, praying he hadn't been taken in yet. He answered long enough for me to hear the gunshots on the other end...

This recording is my living testimony in the event I am killed. Jaster deserves to pay for what he did and I hope this will be enough. I am Gabby Shekler and this is my story. I love you Henry. I'm coming for you.

***

Anger Management

Six pairs of eyes darted back and forth from one another. They all were sitting in fold out chairs that groaned every time someone shifted their weight. The hum of the air conditioner in the window was the only sound, until Paul looked up from his phone.

"Alright, sorry about that. Had some family business to attend to." Paul put his phone in his pocket. "My name is Paul and I would like to welcome you to our first session of Villain Anger Management."

All six villains focused on him, upset that he interrupted their silent game of sizing each other up. First to speak was a small, young woman with woodland creatures crawling through her vibrant green hair. 

"Paul, you sure have some balls," the woman said.

Paul looked down at his crotch, smiled, and returned his focus to her. "Very observant. Good to know you have two eyes."

The other villains laughed, not expecting such a cutting quip from a therapist. The woman stood up and kicked her chair behind her. Squirrels poked their heads out of her hair and growled at Paul. 

"Minions, attack!" she yelled.

Paul sprung off his chair before the squirrels left her hair. Closing the gap inside the circle of villains, he plucked a squirrel from her hair and slammed the little critter's face first into her mouth. The squirrel's tail moved like a windshield wiper, obscuring the woman's vision. She fell back onto the floor, trying to take out the giant hoagie of a squirrel in her mouth. The other villains erupted into laughter, while the other squirrels snickered among each other inside her hair.

The woman pulled the wet squirrel out of her mouth. "Argghh! You are going to pay for that!"

She wasn't talking to Paul, she was talking to the squirrel. Her grip tightened around the squirrel, which struggled in her grip. The squirrel's eyes started to poke out of its skull before Paul intervened. Paul grabbed her by the wrist. With one squeeze, her bones cracked and the squirrel was free from her wrath. His other hand went around her neck, lifting her high in the air.

"What's your name?" Paul said.

She gasped for air and her feet kicked in the air. "Elee."

"Well Elee, consider this your first lesson. Don't blame your minions for your failures," he said, slamming her to the floor.

Elee blinked her eyes a few times, trying to bring the world back in focus. When it did, she saw Paul with her minion perched on his shoulder. This made her blood boil. 

"Traitor!"

"No, Elee. You are the traitor," Paul said. 

"I am not!"

"You hurt your own minion, even willing to kill this furry little guy." Paul scratched the squirrel’s head. "And for what? Failing to accomplish a task?"

"Yes!"

Paul shook his head. "Failure is not the same as betrayal. Would you consider yourself a traitor whenever you failed a task?"

Elee's rage left her body faster than it arrived. Her breathing slowed and fell silent, letting his words take hold in her mind. 

"I don't know who or what hurt you in your past, but you can't go around lashing out on your family," Paul said.

"My family?"

"Yes. Minions are your family. Who else would join forces with you to accomplish your diabolical aspirations? Jaster?"

Elee scoffed at his comment. "Jaster can't be trusted. He's a city slicker."

"Good. You know who you don't trust. But you also need to recognize who you can."

Elee turned her attention to the squirrel who was happily rubbing against Paul's neck. Tears started to well in her eyes, realizing her most trusted companions she was taking for granted. The squirrel jumped off Paul and scurried down to Elee's face, licking the tear from her eye.

She laughed. "Stop it, Kenny."

Paul released his grip from her neck and helped her up. He went over to her chair and folded it up. "I think that is enough for our first session. The takeaway is obvious, but it's worth repeating. These minions you are killing are your family. Treat them with respect, because at the end of the day, they are the only ones you can truly trust."

The villains didn't say anything, but their faces showed his words and actions got to them. They all started to make their way out and Paul began stacking the folding chairs when his phone rang.

"This is Paul," he answered. 

"You seemed to make a good first impression," a voice said.

"So you are watching my sessions? Thought you would be too busy?"

"I'm retired. I have plenty of time."

"Sure you do. If you have so much time, why didn't you stop in?" Paul asked, walking over to the window.

"But then you would have never gotten that breakthrough with squirrel girl."

"Her name's Elee."

"Do you think she is recruitable?"

"Not for you. At least not directly."

"That's never been a problem before."

"Why the sudden interest? Finally looking to settle down?" Paul said with a toothy grin.

"No, but her control over those squirrels could be useful to me."

"Always working. When are you going to stop by to visit? My wife has been dying to try a new recipe. And the kids love seeing their favorite uncle."

"...I will let you know. Keep up the good work, but don't get carried away. Don't want you turning them into heroes."

"Would that really be so bad?"

"Have a good night, Paul."

"You too, Jas."

***

Price Check

Super-Mart was the dream job of a lifetime, at least for me. Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be a superhero. Catch bad guys, save people from harm, get the girl. Sadly, life had different plans for me. When I was thirteen years old, I was diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome. Competitive sports were out of the question and with it my dreams of being a hero. I didn't let that keep me down though, so when an opening showed up the next summer at Super-Mart, I jumped at the opportunity.

I had been to Super-Mart before to pick up groceries for my parents, so I knew the layout pretty well. The front entrance was like any other grocery store. Cash registers toward the front with several aisles of food. The difference at Super-Mart was when the aisle ended there was a large open area that acted as a buffer from the food section. The other section had less aisles and larger walkways between them. I never went down there before as a kid, figuring it was just tools. How wrong I was.

Sure, there were tools. Tools of the trade and not of a carpenter or a do-it-yourselfer, but of heroes and villains. Blades, grappling hooks, net launchers, gators. You name it, they had it. My first day, all I did was roam those aisles, admiring the impressive selection we offered. The appeal did wear off faster than I thought it would, but my attention then changed to the people who shopped there. 

People dressed in capes became a regular thing as well as rougher looking people who gravitated toward wearing black and darker black. My trainer mentioned that villains shopped here, but for some reason I found that hard to fathom. None of the heroes who shopped here I recognized, which made me think maybe cosplay was just super popular here. That was until I was called for my first price check.

"Jason, you are needed in aisle 3H. Price check on lasers," my radio said from my belt. 

I unclipped my radio and spoke into it. "I'm on it."

I walked over as calm as I could, not wanting to sweat in my clean red shirt. It was my first opportunity at helping someone in person and I didn't want to screw it up. Turning the corner of the aisle, I saw a man dressed in an immaculate business suit with his hands behind his back. He was reading one of the labels. A few feet beyond him was a woman in a blue cape writhing on the floor, holding her face. My stride got slower, approaching the man with caution.

"Ah, you there. Can you help me with something?" the man in the suit asked me.

His voice was calm and weirdly soothing, yet the little voice in my head screamed at me to leave at once. If not for the hero writhing in pain, the fact that this man caused her misery without even messing up his suit was enough for alarm. It was clear he was a villain, but I had a job to do.

"How can I help you?" I asked, walking up to him. My eyes kept glancing beyond him, trying to see if the caped woman was alright. 

"I was hoping you could price match these lasers you have with the ones I found online," he said, showing me his phone.

I looked at the screen and laughed. Dumb move, but I couldn't help it. It was a simple ten dollar pen laser pointer. The lasers on the shelf next to him could melt skin like butter. I collected myself and tried to break it to him gently. 

"I'm sorry sir, those aren't the same as these."

"How so?"

"The lasers may both look the same, but this laser can cut through bone," I said taking one off the shelf. "That one on your screen can blind people at best."

"Then why didn't this one cut straight through this woman?" the man said casually admitting he tried to kill someone in the store. "Clearly this is the cheap one."

"Fuck you, Jaster!" the woman yelled from the floor.

The man in the suit turned to her. "Excuse me, miss. I am trying to talk with this young man."

"You could have blinded me with that!" she said, getting up from the floor.

"You attacked me first. And if I remember right, this place has a no fighting policy," Jaster said, grabbing the laser from my hand.

"Why I oughta—" the woman said, before getting blasted in the eyes again with the purple beam. She screamed and covered her eyes, tumbling into the shelf. 

Jaster turned back to me. I was frozen both in fear and amazement. A laser that should have bored her eyes out, only caused her great suffering. Her strength was remarkable. And Jaster. Thee Jaster was standing in front of me. Easily the most notorious villain that ever lived. I have heard stories, but seeing him in person was surreal, even if he was retired.

"I'm sorry about that. So, like I was saying, clearly this laser isn't as advertised. I was hoping for a price match," Jaster said.

I stared in awe of him for a few more moments before I finally spoke. "Um, I'm sorry. I could get fired for matching that price."

"Then how about you match it and come work for me. I could use a tall young man like you."

"What? You want me to work for you? I thought you were retired?"

"Retired, not dead. Still got to keep busy and I need good workers."

"This is just a summer job. I'm still in school."

"Not a problem. Ring these up for me," he said, tossing me the pen laser. "I'll take the entire stock."

"Don't you do it. I'll have you arrested," the woman said, clinging onto the shelf. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto me, demanding my compliance.

"Don't listen to her, Jason. I always take care of my own," Jaster said to me before turning to her. "As for you, we are going to have a little chat about threatening my henchmen."

Jaster grabbed her by the throat and walked away with her. Her feet kicked the floor and she pounded on his arm, but he did not flinch. They were both relatively the same size, yet no matter what the woman did, his grip was unrelenting. He turned the corner with her and the last sound I heard, besides the squealing of her boots on the clean floor, was the sliding door open and close out of sight.

Panic and excitement started to set in. Was I really working for Jaster? I didn't even remember saying yes nor did I tell him my name. I looked down at my shirt. I was not wearing a name tag. Instead of wasting my time wondering how he knew my name, I did the one thing that would help me. Running off to grab a cart to fit all the lasers in. Super-Mart may have been my dream job, but working for Jaster was something I couldn't say no to. Even if I wanted to.

***

Letter to the mayor

Mayor Cheerheart,

I have added below a confidential eye-witness account of the events that led to Dr. Alvin Vortan's death. Normally I would not waste your time with such a detailed account, but I think it is important that you get the full picture of what happened, unedited from the witness.

Witness Account:

Red Smear was leaving brown smears along the marble floor while he dashed to the toilet in the blink of an eye. Bull Man was throwing up on the table in the middle of the room. Chunks of regurgitated food and green muck filled his plate and splattered around the tablecloth. The rest of the superheroes at the long table put down their forks and spit out any food they still had in their mouths.

"Who poisoned za food?" French Baguette said, slamming his baret on the table. The heroes all looked at each other until a cackle came from the balcony. A man stood up there with a dark trench coat and goggles on his forehead.

"It was I, Dr. Vortan!”

Water Girl and Captain Windmill whispered to each other. The rest of the heroes let out a sigh of frustration. 

"It's okay Dr. Vortan. We forgive you," Captain Windmill said.

"The hell we do! He can't keep getting away with this," French Baguette said, standing up from the table.

Water Girl pulled him back into his seat by his white striped long sleeve shirt. "You know he had a troubled past, with his wife leaving him for a circus performer."

"That doesn't excuse this. Or when he attacked the Brooklyn Bridge. Or the time—"

"Frenchy. Please. Can't you see he is just a kid acting out."

"Speak for yourself, girl. I'm almost three times your age," Dr. Vortan said and jumped down from the balcony. His boots slapped the marble floor, which were hidden by his grey trench coat. He readjusted his goggles on his head. "And I don't need your sympathy."

Water Girl walked around French Baguette and up to Dr. Vortan. She opened her arms and gave him a big hug around his waist. He squinted like her loving hug was causing him real pain and tried to push her arms down. She held on tight until he pushed through her arms that turned to streams of water, soaking his trench coat.

"Unhand me!"

"Not until you forgive yourself. Only then will you get past your wife leaving you for a talking tiger."

Those words hit him hard. Dr. Vortan’s head dropped slightly and his tone turned glum. "It was a lion...and it couldn't even talk."

"See. Just let it out."

"Why won't you just treat me like a normal supervillain? Rough me up. Throw me in jail."

"Because. Deep down you are just a person like the rest of us."

"Bird Guy isn't even a person. He is just a bird with human legs."

Bird Guy stood on the table pecking away at the vomit on Bull Man's plate, unaware of their conversation. 

"Bird Guy, that food is poisoned, remember?" Captain Windmill said.

Bird Guy looked at him and looked back at the plate. He flapped his wings and returned to the platter of vomit. Nothing stopped Bird Guy from a free meal.

"Even so. We all have a dark past. We wouldn't be very good heroes if we couldn't see the good in people," Water Girl finished and released him.

"Screw you guys, I'm leaving. You won't even treat me like a proper villain." Dr. Vortan sniffled and walked away.

"But we aren't done yet. We need to work through this Dr. Vortan."

"I'm done with you all. Consider me retired," Dr. Vortan said and stopped at the restroom door. His eyes followed the brown smear on the floor to the door. At that moment, an idea came to him. One final show of defiance in the face of defeat. He pulled out a handgun from his trenchcoat. "I'm going to kill Red Smear though. That asshat attended my ex-wife's wedding. Screw that guy."

He went inside to the sound of farts and liquid funneling fast into the toilet. Two gunshots rang out and silence settled in. One last farewell toot sprang from Red Smear and no one emerged from that bloody bathroom.

End of Witness Account:

Some say Red Smear turned the gun on Dr. Vortan that day. Others think Dr. Vortan turned it on himself. Either way this was tragic. Those "heroes" never gave him the decency of becoming a proper villain. They weaponized his demons and pushed him over the edge. They must be held accountable for their actions. There must be consequences from your office. Otherwise, I will need to take matters into my own hands.

Sincerely,

Jaster

***

Jaster,

I hope this message finds you in good health and thank you for bringing forth evidence relevant to our investigation. My office is currently investigating this matter and will update you, along with the public, as soon as we know more about the events that occurred involving Dr. Vortan's death. I also want to assure you, if there is any wrongdoing found, they will be punished to the highest level of the law…

Jaster stopped reading and closed his laptop. "If there is any wrongdoing. If."

Jaster punched in some buttons on his phone and listened to the dial tone.

"Mayor's Office, this is Jenny."

"Jaster. Put your boss on the phone."

"I'm sorry he is in a meeting. Can I take a message?"

"He doesn't want me to pay him a visit. Cheerheart, if you're listening you better answer."

There were whispers on the other end of the line. One was an older man who sounded like he was going to piss himself. It went on for only a moment before a door closed in the background.

"Oh, it looks like he just got out. Let me transfer you."

"That's what I thought."

Violin strings pinged on the other end of the line. Before he could fathom what song was playing, it stopped and an older raspy voice spoke.

"Jaster. I got your message. Did you get my response?" Mayor Cheerheart said.

"Oh I did. Hard to read with all that political bullshit in it. Who's cock is in your mouth this time?"

"Jaster, I understand you are upset and think I won't do anything—"

"It's Franz isn't it? I'm sure it is."

"...but I'm put in a delicate spot here."

"No, you're not. Find those heroes guilty. Throw away the key."

"Of what? Showing compassion for someone."

"They were mocking him."

"That's not how I understood it."

Jaster pounded the table. "He was my friend, Cheerheart. His death will not go unanswered!"

The mayor sighed. "Jaster. I can't go around jailing heroes for literally doing their job."

"So, you want me to do something? You sure about that?"

"No! Please no. There must be a compromise we can find."

One of Jaster's henchmen knocked on the door frame and peeked around the corner. Jaster waved him in.

"Water Girl," Jaster said, still talking on the phone, but looking at his henchman.

"Excuse me?"

"Blame Water Girl."

"I can't."

Jaster leaned back in his chair, confident Mayor Cheerheart would agree to his terms. "Not for the killing. But for poisoning her fellow coworkers."

"But your witness even mentions Dr. Vortan by name as admitting to the poisoning."

"Maybe don't use his testimony. Sprinkle a little trace evidence on her clothes at her home."

"I can't be involved in a scandal like that."

"You don't have to. Just send some black and whites to her place. They'll find what they need in her closet. First cabinet under her delicates." Jaster pointed to his henchmen. His henchmen nodded and left his office.

"I...I…"

"Can either get started on that warrant or I will get busy doing what I do best. Your call."

"No. No. Not to worry. I will get Chief Horton on the phone right after this. I assure you this will be handled."

"Glad we could come to an understanding. You have a nice day, Mayor Cheerheart," Jaster said, putting his phone down on the receiver.

He stood up and looked at the map of the city across his messy desk. Water Girl's picture amongst the splattering of photos pinned on the map. He smiled something venomous. "That will teach her for messing with my warehouses on Ocean District."

***

Jaster’s Return

"Come in," Jaster said, his eyes still stuck in his Super Villain Quarterly magazine.

A small, hunched over man came limping in with a crutch under his arm. His hair was dirty, face bruised and puffy. His clothes were drenched and smelt like urine that had been sitting in the toilet all day in the middle of summer.

Jaster scrunched his face upon smelling the foul odor that walked through his door. He looked up from his magazine and then slammed it on his desk.

"What happened to you?"

"The heroes, sir. They attacked me."

"At the warehouse?"

"No sir. The bar."

"Why were you at the bar?"

"I got done loading the last of the crocodiles for the moat and thought I would celebrate with a beer. I went to the one on Elm Street a few blocks away. Anyways, I was enjoying my beer when two caped heroes grabbed me from the bar. They took me out in the alley and just started beating me."

"Why?"

"They kept asking me about Operation Sceptre. I had no idea what they were talking about, but they...didn't believe me. They just kept hitting me...and hitting me," he said, breaking down into tears.

"Did you get a good look at either hero? Any distinguishing marks?"

The minion wiped his tears on his sleeve. "They were both wearing green capes and masks. One had a…" He cringing, unable to finish his sentence.

Jaster leaned in closer. "Had a what? Continue."

"Had...a black heart tattooed on his penis."

"How do you know that?"

"Cause I saw it just before he peed on me."

Jaster slammed his hand on top of his desk phone and smashed in the buttons. The dial tone was audible enough for both of them to hear. 

"I will handle this," Jaster said to the minion before putting the phone to his ear.

"Hello, this is Hero's Inc. We put the H in…" the secretary said.

"Save it! I need to talk to Franz right now! This is Jaster."

"Oh. One moment while I transfer you."

The sound of angels strumming on harps came over the phone speaker. The phone creaked as Jaster's grip tightened. The song changed quickly back to a dial tone, almost like it could hear the phone's cries for help under his grip.

"Jaster?" Franz's voice quivered.

"Franz. I heard two of your trainees ran into my minion yesterday. Give me their names."

"Jaster, you know I can't do that."

"You give me those names or I will find them out myself! Your call."

"Don't! Please! I'm sure whatever happened was well within our training…"

"Your training includes torturing my people and pissing on their broken bodies!"

"Fighting bad guys is our job. I'm sure your minion is lying to you."

"Then why does he reek of piss in my office? And his face looks more like a burnt marshmallow. No, your boys broke the treaty. Consider me back. You've done this to yourself, Franz."

"No! Wait!"

Jaster slammed the phone back on the receiver. His eyes had a spark in them and his heart beat so hard it could jump out of his chest at any moment. Jaster got up and walked toward his minion with a sinister smile. His minion stumbled back into the wall.

"Don't worry. I'll make them pay."

***

Jaster stood across the street looking up at Hero's Inc. It towered over the city, the glass glimmering in the sun. Cars came to a stop at the red light below, silent all but for the tires crushing the little pieces of loose asphalt. Jaster adjusted his striped red tie before walking across the street. Each step closer to the building his anger bubbled more inside. The glass doors opened for him and the secretary was waiting behind a brown desk in an otherwise large empty lobby. Her radiant smile and flowing blonde hair did not distract him from his goal.

"Can I help you sir?"

He continued walking toward the elevator in the back, ignoring her question.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't go back there without an appointment," she said, starting to make her way around the desk.

Jaster pointed at her without looking at her. "You stay put or I will turn that smile upside down! Franz is expecting me."

She went back to her desk and picked up the phone. She dialed for Franz and he answered right away.

"Someone is coming up to your office."

"I was just about to leave. Who is it?"

"I don't know, but he looks mad. Is everything okay?"

The line went silent, except for the faint sound of footsteps running away.

"Hello?" she asked one more time. Again no response. 

Jaster was already in the elevator. Quiet music played from the speaker above. The number above the door frame kept going up.  45. 46. 47. The doors opened to Franz standing in front of him, breathing heavy. 

"Jaster...what a pleasant...surprise," Franz said trying to still catch his breath.

"Where's that black hearted dick?"

Franz put his hands out. "Woah there Jaster. Say, let me get something for you? We sit down and talk this out. You like tea?"

Jaster punched him in the gut. Franz doubled over, throwing up his tuna salad on the clean floor.

"You can't stop this. Where is he? Or do you want something coming out both ends?"

"Two doors down in the conference…" Franz said before he heaved again. "In the conference room. Please don't kill him. He is just a trainee."

"See. That wasn't so hard."

Jaster walked past the mess he made in the hall and to the conference room. He kicked in the wood door to find two heroes sitting in red office seats with their feet up on the conference table and a large glass window behind them. The only major difference between the two was one had short blonde hair, while the other had long black hair. Jaster felt the blood pumping through his veins, bulging under his sleek jacket. 

"Which one of you is Dick Heart?"

They both laughed. "What?" They both said in unison.

"Did I stutter? Which one of you pissed on my minion?"

"I think he is talking about the guy at the bar?" the blonde hero said to the other one.

"Who wants to know?" the black haired hero said.

Jaster stepped toward them. "I don't see anyone else standing in front of you."

The two got to their feet, their capes flowed behind them. The black haired hero grabbed a bow seemingly out of nowhere. He put an arrow in his bow and aimed at Jaster. The bow creaked when he pulled the bowstring back.

"Don't move."

Jaster smiled. "Your mistake."

Jaster charged the bowman. The arrow's breeze brushed Jaster's cheek, missing by mere inches. The other hero kicked at Jaster to protect his partner. Jaster spun away from the kick and got his hand on the bow. In one motion, Jaster ripped it from the hero's grip and sliced four of the hero's finger's clean off with the bowstring. The hero cried out in pain grabbing his hand like that was somehow going to reattach his fingers or ease his pain. He fell back onto the table, his screams of panic consumed all his concentration.

Jaster turned to the other hero. "So, are you Dick Heart?" He threw the bow in the corner of the room, unafraid of being unarmed.

The hero threw a punch, his red glove came at Jaster like a rocket. But it was not fast enough. Jaster deflected the punch with the outside of his wrist. With the other hand, Jaster grabbed the hero by the roof of his mouth. Jaster hooked his hand behind the hero's front teeth and ripped the front six out with ease.

Jaster looked at the teeth in his palm, all white with almost no blood. "Good news, none of these have any cavities.”

He tossed them against the window and crouched down next to the hero. Blood poured out of the hero's mouth and stained his green suit.

"Your dentist will want you on soft foods for awhile. So I brought you this.” Jaster reached into his pocket and revealed a plastic bag with a thin pinecone shaped poo in it. He dangled it in front of the hero, the smell still trapped in it's container. "You pissed on my guy, so you are going to eat shit. Literally."

The hero moaned, closed his eyes, and shook his head. 

Jaster shook the bag like he was calling a dog for treats. "Don't make me feed it to you?"

The hero whimpered and took the bag, moving the plastic aside to reveal the tip. It smelt like expired burrito that was dipped in urine. The hero cringed at the smell, but bravely slid the whole thing down his mouth.

"That's a good boy," Jaster said, patting the hero's head. Jaster stood back up and drove his heel into the hero's crouch. The hero's eyes were wide open and he groaned in pain. "If either of you do anything like that to my minions again, consider yourselves retired."

Jaster calmly walked to the door and closed it behind him. He made his way back to the elevator, with Franz still doubled over, nose almost touching his pile of vomit.

"I talked to your boys and I think they know their place now," Jaster said, walking over him.

"Oh good. Does this mean you're not coming back to the field?”

Jaster stepped into the elevator and clicked a button. The doors started to close.

"We'll see."

***