Villainous Us

Something Strong

Iron Crisis

I threw open the door to a local bar, letting it bang loudly against the wall as I strode in. It was dark inside solely to try to cover up for the fact that this place sucks. Wallpaper from the 90s peeled of the walls, and a couple pieces of the ceiling were missing. The leather upholstering on the stools and booths were ripped and wrinkled, stuffing either missing from the holes or spewing out like a shaken can of Mountain Dew. Ugh, and the smell. It was an odd mixture of cigarette smoke, piss, and depressed forty year olds.

Gross.

A few sorry saps sat at the bar, already too off their rockers to notice my entrance. I'm pretty certain that if I poked one of these drunks that they'd flop right out of their chairs and onto the floor. Pitiful.

I'm amazed how long this place has stayed in business. The owner is a bit of a pushover and most of the customers he brought in were the metaphorical rats of the city. But, hey. When you're willing to stay open, even in the midst of citywide destruction, you're bound to get some attention.

Needing something to distract myself from my life in general, I made my way purposefully up to the bar. The bartender approached me cautiously, being as I was still dressed up as my notoriously villainous self, and asked me what I wanted.

I was trying to decide whether he was more scared of what I'd do to him since he approached me or of what I would've done had he not. Regardless, I needed to answer the man.

"Something strong," I grumbled as I resigned to taking a seat on the crummy barstool.

This whole place was pretty sketchy, but then again, so was my life.

The bartender returned a few short moments later with a tall glass of unidentified liquid and ice. I took a few gulps of liquid fire before coming up for air again. At first it burned in my throat, but then it started to tingle.

My attention was then captured by the small box-screen TV in the corner of the room. The news was on, broadcasting images of the burning portions of lower Broadway and 5th. There were even a few pictures of me up there.

The screen flashed, switching to the image of an angry Italian man. Below were the words, Mobster Unmasked. 7 time felon Antoine Vicardi pronounced dead this morning.

My anger heightened at the reminder. The glass in my hand shattered in my grip as I stared at the screen. I need to break something else before my anger overwhelms me.

I shook the broken glass off my glove and walked back outside, slamming the door shut behind me. Mobster is dead, and I don't know if I want to become a soloist again.

Directing my rage towards an abandoned car in the middle of the street, I made it collapse in on itself. The crunching of glass and the groaning of metal was satisfying to my ears. I twisted the car into a sphere, and without another thought, hurtled it in the direction of the fires. I didn't care where it ended up, I just wanted destruction. That destruction was confirmed by crashes and screams.

"Wow," came a familiar voice to my left, "Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?"

I scowled as I turned towards the source. Carney, previous member of the Sinister Six, leaned casually against the faded brick wall of the bar, cigarette pinched between his lips.

"I would say 'bite me,' but you're probably not the best person for that comeback."

Carney grinned wickedly, showing off two rows of filed fangs that strongly reminded me of shark week. I've seen him use them on several occasions, and, to make a long story short, it's not pretty.

With the exception of the occasional blood splatter and his spiked, neon orange hair, Carney resembled a psychotic clown that just crawled out of a black and white horror movie. In fact, he wore more makeup than all my ex-girlfriends combined.

That's not all though. Being a clown and all, Carney definitely lived up to expectations. You know that trick where you pull a constant line of tied together cloths out of seemingly nowhere? Well that's Carney and weapons.

He can pull knifes, guns, and even bombs out of any fold in his ridiculous suit. It's still a mystery to me where he finds room for it all, but I've even seen him pull out a couple coils of rope. It's actually kind of insane.

Taking a step forward, I plucked the cigarette from Carney's mouth and took a drag. He snatched it back quickly, scowling at me.

Then his expression changed, "Wanna go rob a bank or something. It's been a while since my last hostage situation."

"I can't, man. My mother wants me over for dinner tonight," I grumbled sourly while running my hands through my hair.

Carney grimaced and clutched his chest as if in pain, "Oof, better luck next time, Crisis."

I hated my family with a passion, and though Carney didn't know who they were, he knew that much.

I mean, they're filthy frickin' rich, and the only reason they give me money is for "college." Aka, the college I dropped out of months ago because my parents don't care enough to check if I'm still attending before they write me a check.

Fools. All of them.

Long story short, I still dread every time they drag me back to the house. It's all fake smiles and pretending I'm not as psychotic as I really am.

Joy.

I looked up and realized Carney was gone. He did that a lot actually.

Grumbling profanities under my breath, I stalked off in the direction of my apartment to change into my alter ego.

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A/N

Megan here! Hope you're enjoying Villainous Us so far. If you are, turn that little star orange and send a comment our way! Thanks for the reads! Next up is Stevie's chapter!