The Storybook Dimension

See disclaimer.

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Not Today

Chapter 5: A Calculated Risk
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Will Stronghold

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There’s a one in five hundred thousand chance that you’ll be struck by lightening, one in ten million that you’ll be president of the United States. The overall odds of being canonized are twenty-million to one, but I think my odds are far steeper than that.

Chances are that, given a reasonable opportunity, Warren will try to kill me. I can accept that. There are many people who wish me dead, and more than a few of them live within my own base. He’s just one more.

When I set Warren free from his cage, I calculated the risk as somewhere between the chance of a child with two normal parents being born with superpowers, and the chance that I will meet my end by unnatural causes. Supervillains don’t tend to die of old age, so I’d say those odds are pretty high.

But, regardless of the odds, it was worth it. That look of surprise, mixed with suspicion and gratitude is something I never thought I’d see. It’s good to keep him off balance. If he never knows what to expect, he can never prepare for what happens next.

Nevertheless, it’s a temporary reprieve, and we both know it. I left the collar tightly locked around his neck; even if he someone managed to discover the codes allowing him access to the outside, without his powers he would be easy prey to the villains lurking beyond these walls. If nothing else, Warren does have scores upon scores of enemies.

Somewhere nearby, I can hear the shuffling footsteps of Gwen Grayson. I ignore her, fine-tuning the repairs to one of my many ray guns. I replace a plate, carefully manipulating a tiny screw. Then I repeat the process, until all the nicks and kinks have disappeared.

There’s some irony in the fact that I, the most powerful super-villain in the country, inventor of dozens of deadly and horrific weapons, would have failed Mad Science without Gwen’s help. I never thought I would need the information and, more importantly, I was a little preoccupied with my beautiful lab partner.

She’s not so beautiful anymore, but I suppose I could still ask Gwen to fix my weapons and armor. She could, undoubtedly, do it in an instant – assuming, of course, that insanity hasn’t caused her to lose control of her powers.

She’s still watching me. I can hear her soft, steady breathing, and can almost feel her hateful glare. I’ve long since given up on wondering what thoughts cross her twisted mind. I should have killed her long ago, but I didn’t. I think I have a thing for keeping former foes as prisoners.

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Warren Peace

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It’s like a game – you pull on the handle of one door, and maybe it opens. You pull on the handle of another, it stays locked and you move on.

Devastator’s base is a maze, a labyrinth of locked rooms and doors. For the most part, the rooms I am able to enter are empty or recently vacated. What does Devastator need so much space for?

His minions, the few which there are, avoid me like the plague. Sometimes I see one of them, mostly in the distance, down a dark corridor or entering a locked room. I pass a brushed metal door.

I count to three before pushing on the handle. To my surprise, the door opens slowly into a long but narrow room, full of antique equipment, all covered with a layer of dust. There’s one set of footprints, going to the back of the room and then doubling towards the front.

They’re too small to belong to Will. I follow them to the back of the room and look up at the shelves. There’s a gap, a missing item. The only thing to mark its existence is a slightly lighter area on the wall and shelf, an area missing the dust that covers the rest of the room.

A shadow blocks the thin, cold light coming from the door, and I turn to face someone who I never thought I’d see again.

“Royal Pain. I heard that you escaped prison, but I had no idea that you were here.”

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To Be Continued

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