DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Villain Seeking Hero • Kristin Jacques

Not for the first time, Dr. Plox realized his current arch nemesis was little more than a well trained slab of muscles and nice hair. He sighed, fiddling with the trigger of his latest device, making the room of hostages flinch. They always did get rather twitchy when he tossed it between his hands like a tennis ball.

He watched the newest hero monologue at him, appealing to his better nature, his humanity, blah blah, blah, he'd stopped paying attention when his gaze fell on the man's chin. They always had a cleft chin. Was there a check box on the application for Hero of the City for cleft chins? Cleft chin, chiseled good looks, and abysmal I.Q. Did someone write this speech for him? He squinted beyond the bullet proof glass at the city councilmen and the mayor who all quickly averted their eyes.

"You really are nothing more than a glorified meat shield in spandex." He arched an eyebrow at the hero. "Yellow really isn't your color."

The man's speech faltered, his features settling in a blank expression Dr. Plox assumed was the norm.

He set the trigger device on the table with an audible clunk, ignoring the gasps of the hostages as he reached for the small pistol in his pocket. "It's not really fair, to either of us, is it? You, shoved into those tights, thrust into the arena with a psychopath for your first day on the job. Me, a psychopath, bored and unstable, searching for a decent rival with a handful of brain cells. What do they call you anyway, kiddo?" The 'kiddo' comment was a little much, the hero couldn't have been more than a couple years younger than Plox himself but he had the lost lamb look of a fresh out of school teenager getting their first taste of real world problems.

"Uh–Sargent Power?"

"Was that a question?" Plox waved the hand now holding the gun. "No matter, it's not important. Those esteemed gentlemen always dredge up one of you, usually a Captain Muscles or General Fantastic something or other. Always pitting brawn against brain. Tell me Sargent Power, are you bullet proof?"

"Uhhh, no."

Dr. Plox fired, hitting the newbie right between the eyes. "Whew, that's a relief. The last one was bulletproof. Big waste of time and resources," he told the lifeless body of Sargent Power as it slid lifeless to the floor. There were a few stifled shrieks from the hostages but the city council looked mostly resigned. He slid back into his seat and crooked a finger, beckoning the mayor forward. He even put the gun on the table since he was a gentleman.

When the nervous little man sat across from him, Dr. Plox leaned forward, confiding in the pasty faced mayor something that had been weighing on him for months.

"Look, Mayor Winsome, let's be honest with each other for a moment. I don't really want to blow these people up," said Plox, tapping his fingertips together. The mayor stopped looking down at the fallen Sargent Power to focus on Dr. Plox.

"You–you don't?"

"No," snapped Plox, "What would be the point in wasting this lot of nobodies? I just want to be paid. How about this. I'll cut you a deal, Mayor. Let's settle this as a business arrangement. Pay me at least half of the ransom I have demanded for the hostages, and I shall pack up and be on my merry way."

"Just–just like that?" The mayor's voice cracked as he spoke. He winced, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he frowned. "Why only half?"

Dr. Plox rolled his eyes. "Come on now, I know that amount is exceedingly high for the city to cobble together in the time frame I asked. Did none of you city officials ever learn to haggle? No, instead you throw ill suited heroes at me, hoping one would stick. How many times have we gone through this? It always ends the same."

"It's just," the little man hesitated, looking slightly green. "Between paying past ransom demands and funding the Hero projects, our coffers are nearly run dry. We could maybe pay you a fourth of what you've asked for..." He trailed off at the muted expression on Dr. Plox's face.