Chapter 35: Like Tears in the Rain
I watch as Super Star and Luke walk to leave my office, a mixture of emotions swirling within me. Annoyance bubbles up first and foremost, did she really barge in here just to rub it in my face that their married and about getting Luke added to her will? As if I don't have more pressing matters to attend to, like damage control for the city-wide destruction or preparing statements for the media circus that's sure to descend upon us.
But beneath that irritation, I feel an odd twinge in my chest. A part of me, small but insistent, is relieved to know that Luke will be taken care of, no matter what happens. The thought of my Pookie being left adrift and alone in this world is unbearable. I push that feeling down, burying it beneath layers of professionalism and calculated indifference.
As they reach the door, Super Star pauses. "Honey, I'll be right there," she says to Luke, her voice calm. "I have to tell Veronica something."
The door clicks shut behind Luke, leaving me alone with Super Star. The air in the office seems to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for whatever bombshell she's about to drop.
Super Star turns to face me, her emerald eyes gleaming with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. "By the way," she says, her voice low and deliberate, "I killed Tyrell."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I struggle to keep my face impassive, years of practice in masking my emotions coming to my aid. But inside, my mind is reeling. Tyrell, dead? The implications cascade through my thoughts like an avalanche.
"What did you do with the body?" I ask, my voice carefully controlled despite the turmoil of emotions churning inside me.
Super Star's emerald eyes meet mine, unflinching. "He turned to sand."
"What?" The word escapes me before I can stop it, my composure slipping for just a moment.
"No, seriously," Super Star continues, her gaze never wavering. "He blew away after he died. Like dust in the wind."
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking softly. My mind races, trying to make sense of this bizarre turn of events. "That's... well, that's helpful."
Super Star nods, a grim satisfaction settling over her features. "Well, at least the leak's been dealt with," she says, her tone final and resolute.
As she turns to leave, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I quickly school my features into a neutral expression, but inside, I'm overjoyed. Little does Super Star know that I was the true source of the leak. And now, with Tyrell out of the picture, there's nothing standing between me and my deepest, darkest desires.
I watch as Super Star strides towards the door, her long brown hair swaying with each step. As she reaches for the handle, I call out, "Thank you for informing me, Super Star."
She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. For a moment, our eyes lock, and I wonder if she can see the wicked glee dancing behind my carefully composed facade. But then she nods curtly and steps out, the door closing behind her.
As soon as I'm alone, I allow the smile to spread fully across my face. It's a smile of triumph, of anticipation, of dark promises yet to be fulfilled.
"Oh, Luke," I whisper to the empty room, my voice filled with a mixture of longing and malice. "You have no idea what's coming for you, my sweet Pookie."
With practiced movements, I activate the hidden panel beneath my desk. A soft whir fills the air as a state-of-the-art communications array rises from the smooth wooden surface. The holographic display flickers to life, bathing my face in an eerie blue glow.
My fingers dance across the haptic interface, inputting a series of complex encryption codes. The air itself seems to crackle with energy as the secure line establishes itself, reaching out across the city to connect with my fellow villains.
Within moments, two familiar faces materialize in the air before me. Magnetra's sharp features are accentuated by the harsh lighting of what appears to be her underground lair, the metallic accents of her costume glinting ominously. Beside her, Surge Queen's electric blue eyes seem to pulse with barely contained energy, her hair writhing like living lightning around her face.
"What's the big idea, Mind Mistress?" Surge Queen demands, her voice crackling with static. "I was in the middle of a delicate experiment."
I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers as I regard my fellow villains. "I'm calling off the gang rape plan," I announce, my voice smooth and controlled despite the excitement thrumming through my veins.
Magnetra's eyes narrow suspiciously. "And why, pray tell, are we abandoning such a good plan?" she asks, her voice laden with barely concealed irritation.
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "Tyrell is dead," I begin, watching as surprise flickers across their faces. "But I have reason to believe he was working for someone far more powerful than we initially thought."
It's a lie, of course, but one that might very well be true. We really don't know why he was protecting Luke and who he worked for.
Surge Queen's electric blue eyes crackle with intensity as she processes this new information.
"So what are you saying?" she demands, her voice sharp and impatient.
I lean forward, my purple eyes gleaming in the dim light of my office. "I'm saying we need more time to assess and wait out our hidden enemy," I explain, my voice low and measured.
The words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. Magnetra's silver hair seems to ripple of its own accord.
After what feels like an eternity, both villains nod their agreement. The tension in the air dissipates slightly, replaced by a sense of cautious anticipation.
Surge Queen's gaze darts around the holographic display, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Where's Cheese?"
I pause, my eyes scanning the empty space where our fourth member should be. The absence of her gaudy yellow costume and ridiculous cheese-shaped mask is conspicuous. A flicker of annoyance passes through me as I realize the implications of her absence.
With a weary sigh, I turn back to my fellow villains. "I guess she didn't pick up," I say, unable to keep the irritation from seeping into my voice.
Magnetra lets out a low chuckle, the sound resonating metallically through the holographic display. Her lips curl into a smirk, revealing teeth that gleam like polished steel. "That moron doesn't matter. What has she ever achieved."
I nod in agreement, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The Big Cheese has always been more of a liability than an asset, her chaotic nature often threatening to derail our carefully laid plans.
With a final exchange of knowing looks, I reach out to end the call. The holographic display flickers and fades, plunging my office back into its usual dim lighting. As the last traces of my fellow villains disappear, I lean back in my chair, a sense of satisfaction settling over me.
The pieces are in place, the board set for the next move in this grand game. And with Tyrell out of the picture, the path to my beloved Pookie is clearer than ever. A smile spreads across my face, equal parts anticipation and dark promise.
*****
[The Big Cheese's POV]
"No, no, NO!" I scream, my voice echoing off the grimy walls of The Rapist's warehouse hideout. I jab my finger at the flickering TV screen, nearly smudging my cheese-shaped mask in my frantic gesturing. "Her superpowers are FIRE AND SPEARS! But in the movie, it's snakes! SNAKES! Yet her fucking name is SCORPION!"
The Rapist sags deeper into the ratty couch, rolling her eyes so hard I swear I can hear them. Her wild green hair is a stark contrast to her pale clown makeup. She points a lazy finger at her character on the screen, her voice dripping with annoyance.
"Sub-Zero is at least a cryomancer," she drawls. "I think Scorpion is a pyromancer."
I spin over her, my yellow cape billowing dramatically behind me. The moth-eaten fabric catches on a rusty nail, tearing slightly, but I'm too worked up to care. "You don't understand!" I wail, my voice rising to a pitch that makes even the rats scurrying in the corners wince. "Scorpion! SCORPION! Explain the snakes or even the spears! None of it makes sense!"
The Rapist's eyes flash dangerously, her manic green gaze locking onto me with predatory intensity. She rises from the couch in one fluid motion, her lanky frame unfolding like a switchblade.
"If you don't shut the fuck up about spears and snakes," she snarls, her voice dropping to a guttural growl, "I'm going to rip your uterus out."
A cackle bursts from my lips, high-pitched and unhinged. The sound echoes off the grimy warehouse walls, mingling with the distant drip of leaking pipes and the scurrying of unseen vermin. As my laughter crescendos, I feel a familiar tingle in my toes, a rush of power surging through my veins.
Slowly, I begin to rise from the floor. The Rapist's eyes widen in disbelief as my feet leave the ground, my cheese-shaped mask nearly scraping the ceiling. A swirling vortex of dark clouds materializes around me, crackling with eldritch energy. The temperature in the room plummets, our breath visible in wispy puffs.
The Rapist stumbles back, her usual bravado crumbling in the face of this inexplicable display. Her green eyes dart wildly around the room, searching for some logical explanation and finding none. "What the hell?" she stammers, her voice barely audible over the howling wind that now whips through the warehouse. "What the fuck even are your powers?"
I spread my arms wide, my tattered yellow cape billowing behind me like the wings of some demented, dairy-based angel. "No one has ever lived to tell that secret!" I bellow, my voice booming with otherworldly resonance.
The storm intensifies, papers and debris whirling through the air in a chaotic dance. The Rapist cowers, shielding her face from the vortex. For a moment, I revel in her fear, drunk on the rush of power.
The Rapist slouches back onto the couch, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She runs a hand through her wild green hair, smearing her clown makeup in the process. "Just stop with the weird shit and sit down, you fucking freak," she mutters, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
The swirling vortex of dark clouds dissipates as quickly as it appeared, the howling wind dying down to a whisper. Papers and debris flutter gently to the floor as the unnatural storm vanishes. The temperature in the room returns to normal, the chill evaporating like morning dew.
I float down from my lofty position near the ceiling, my cheese-shaped mask bobbing slightly as I descend. My tattered yellow cape settles around me as my feet touch the grimy concrete floor.
Without a word, I plop down on the ratty couch next to Rapist. The ancient springs groan in protest under our combined weight.
I turn to The Rapist. "Do you think Frost is hot?" I ask, my voice muffled by the thick foam of my headgear.
The Rapist's eyes narrow as she studies the screen, her gaze fixed on the blue-clad ninja. She opens her mouth to respond, but something else catches her attention. In the corner of the screen, a small icon flashes intermittently, the unmistakable logo of a popular streaming platform.
Her green eyes widen in surprise, then narrow dangerously as she whips her head towards me. "Are you live streaming us right now?" she demands, her voice a mixture of disbelief and growing anger.
I nod enthusiastically. "Yeah, I have to stream for my discord kittens," I explain as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
The Rapist lets out a long, weary sigh. She slumps back into the couch, pinching the bridge of her nose with paint-stained fingers.
After a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sounds of digital combat from the TV, The Rapist finally speaks. Her voice is flat, drained of all energy. "Yeah, I think Frost is hot," she concedes. Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "And I want to see his dick."
"Oh, by the way, did you collect the women with AIDS to rape Luke?"
The Rapist's eyes light up with a manic gleam, her painted lips stretching into a grotesque grin. "Yeah," she drawls, her voice dripping with anticipation, "we can do it whenever."
I nod, excitement bubbling up inside me. "This week," I declare, "as soon as I see him leave Star Tower alone. So make sure those bitches are on call." A thought strikes me, and I add, "And we need Super Star to see, so make sure you're not attached to any of them."
The Rapist throws her head back and laughs, the sound echoing off the grimy walls. "Sweetheart," she cackles, her voice laced with a chilling lack of empathy, "I'm not attached to anyone."
*****
[Dark Girl's POV]
The cavernous underground chamber echoes with the soft hum of high-tech equipment and the distant drip of water. Shadowy stalactites loom overhead, their jagged forms barely visible in the dim lighting. Banks of computer monitors cast an eerie blue glow across the polished stone floor, illuminating the array of cutting-edge gadgets and weaponry that line the walls.
I lean forward in my chair, eyes fixed on one particular screen. The Big Cheese's garish yellow costume and ridiculous cheese-shaped mask fill the display, her muffled voice crackling through the speakers. Beside her slouches, The Rapist, her wild green hair and clown makeup a stark contrast to the drab warehouse setting.
As I listen to their conversation, my blood runs cold. The casual way they discuss their vile plans sends a shiver down my spine. When The Big Cheese mentions setting up the rape this week, my eyes go wide with horror and disgust.
"Dark Star!" I yell, my voice echoing off the cavern walls. "The Big Cheese wants to set up the rape this week!"
From the shadows, a tall figure emerges. Dark Star's cape billows behind her as she strides towards me, her piercing blue eyes narrowed in concentration.
After a moment of tense silence, Dark Star nods, a deep frown etching lines across her face. "I guess we're heading to Boston," she says, her voice low and gravelly.
I spring to my feet, adrenaline already coursing through my veins. "I'll go prepare."