Writing Prompt: Supervillain

Another story I wrote for reddit Writingprompts. This prompt read: "You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble."

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Rules exist for a reason.

I'm not talking about laws, but rules, built on respect and mutual understanding. Laws are made to be broken. Rules are inviolate.

When our battles threatened to destroy the world itself, when civilian casualties were too great to ignore, we backed off and eventually came up with rules. This world may be mine to conquer, but I have no desire to rule over a world of the dead, and so I agreed to their boundaries, their standards, their contracts and codes of behavior. With my genius, I could still conquer this world even with such standards restraining me. And in return for my benevolent agreement the self-styled "heroes" agreed to the same, and so we all kept things in check.

I still plot and scheme and, yes, even break the law, but my minions know how far is too far, and they never cross that line. My adversaries still foil my schemes (when and if they can,) but they know how far is too far and, again, they never cross that line.

Until now.

I'm facing away from Hugo, looking into the mirror, checking the fit on my blouse as I button it up. It's been awhile since I wore it. I haven't needed to in years. I'm not looking at Hugo but I can still remember every detail, every bruise on his face, the missing teeth, the missing ear, the streak of dried blood running down his neck. Those are the visible injuries. The rest are concealed by his clothes, though the two casts on his arms are a bit hard to overlook.

We're on the 75th floor, one level up from my office in my personal chambers. Hugo is sitting on the couch while Fredricks sits in a comfortable office chair nearby taking notes. I'd already been over the story with Hugo the moment he was brought in by the response team, but it helps to have everything written down formally, so they're going over it all again. Hugo's just gotten to the part where Nightwatcher started cutting off his ear, and I set the earrings down on the vanity.

"Hugo," I say, turning. "There's no need to relive that. I'll brief Fredricks for the official report. You can return to the medical wing and rest for now. We can talk later when you've recovered."

Hugo looks ashamed. "No, boss. Please. I'm fine. I... I want to talk through this. I'm so sorry. I wasn't strong enough. I just wanted him to stop... wanted the pain to stop. I tried to stay quiet but I just couldn't..."

I walk over and kneel before my injured employee. "Hugo, you mustn't blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I should have done a better job securing our facilities against intrusion," (I notice Fredricks frown as I say this. They've already instituted an organization-wide security review,) "and you were never trained in combat or interrogation. You were never meant to have to face such... atrocity."

Hugo slumps into his seat, tears freely flowing. "I'm so sorry boss. I just wanted to do a good job."

I think about the various reports I'd been receiving over the last month or so. Cosmo's newest sidekick (and goodness, he did seem to go through them quickly, didn't he?) was operating on his own. Rumors were that the kid was sick of being just a sidekick, wanted to prove himself, had always been a bit hot-headed, but up until now he'd never crossed the line. He'd gotten real close, skirted the very edges of what was permitted, but never actually done anything warranting a direct response.

But now this "Nightwatcher" had tortured one of my men, just a random factory worker, for details on my latest scheme.

I motion to Keats, who's standing off to the side. "Take Hugo down to medical. Make sure he gets there safely, and have them give him something for the pain. Have psych stop by later this evening as well."

Keats gently urges Hugo to his feet and ushers him out the doors. I listen as their footsteps, and the sound of weeping, recede down the corridor until the door finally closes behind them, cutting off the sound.

I return to the mirror, and finish buttoning the blouse. It's bulletproof, and while I don't need such protection, it's such a hassle when one's outfit gets ruined by stray gunfire. I put on the earrings, two small skulls. We're sending a message, after all.

I don't even really care that much that Hugo told Nightwatcher everything he knew about Project Omnibus. Like all of my plans, Omnibus is just one gear in a larger machine. I can adapt and alter my strategies. There's always a contingency plan for any failure. Wheels within wheels. It's not about that. Nightwatcher could have just as easily hacked into our systems and discovered those plans that way.

There are rules, and those rules exist for a reason.

"How's the ultimatum coming?"

Fredericks flips to another page in their notebook. "Nearly completed. I still think 'unconscionable' works better than 'inhumane' in paragraph three."

"Change it if you like, but let's get it printed. I'll be departing immediately."

"You're delivering it yourself? Couldn't we use the hotline, avoid unnecessary risk while we give the Society a chance to respond?"

"No. I've sat back for far too long while they've tested my patience. I've held myself honorably to their rules while they've flaunted them, and the time has come for a personal appearance. It's time for me to take the field and remind them why we have rules in the first place."

I bend over fasten the last buckle on my boots when the window explodes inwards. Fredricks doesn't move (their preternatural luck ensures no flying debris will ever hit them) and I, of course, am impervious to such trivial harms. Still, I assume a defensive stance and wait for the inevitable assault.

I note (with my superior analytical abilities) that it was a small charge, doing no real damage to the building and only destroying one window. A single rope appears, lowered from somewhere above, and now I notice the loud and whirring roar of helicopter blades. I move forward to the hole in my building and look upwards.

My sometimes-nemesis Cosmo is sitting in the open door of one of the Society's response-choppers, operating a crank lowering a rope towards us. Fastened onto the end of that rope is a large sack.

I grab the package and pull it into the building, detaching it from the rope and letting the rope swing free. I look back upwards and see Cosmo nod in acknowledgement, or perhaps in greeting, before the helicopter banks away and speeds off.

Interesting.

I turn towards the large sack, which Fredricks has already begun to open.

Inside is an envelope and...

...Nightwatcher, hogtied, gagged, and blindfolded.

Fredricks has already opened the envelope and is reading the letter within. "Sorry about the window. We'll forward you the funds to replace it. We trust that this gift will even accounts and trust that no further action will need to be taken. Respectfully, the Society of Superheros."

Huh.

Sometimes having a reputation can be a very good thing.

I kneel before the bound prisoner and remove his blindfold and gag. He immediately begins shouting epithets. "Witch! You'll never get away with this!"

I let him rage for a few moments before standing and returning to the mirror. This is not the appropriate outfit for this occasional at all. "Fredricks," I say, as I carefully remove my earrings and place them in the top drawer. "Have our guest brought downstairs to some... appropriate accommodations. See that he's... comfortable until I arrive. I'll be down shortly so that we can have a nice long conversation about rules."

Fredricks pulls a small communicator out of their pocket and whispers into it, and quickly two guards rush into the room. Fredricks, smiling, replaces Nightwatcher's gag and blindfold and then the two guards drag him out of the chamber. Fredricks follows, giving me a small nod as they close the door behind them. I listen with satisfaction at muffled sounds of anger, outrage, and fear until the heavy oak doors cut off the sound.

I turn and walk to the closet. This occasion calls for a particularly splendid outfit. We haven't had guests in a very long time, and it simply wouldn't be polite to meet a guest in anything less than my very best.

Rules are rules for a reason, after all.