If a superhero would be proud of me for one thing, it would be standing up for others.
If a super villain would be proud of me for one thing, it would be standing up for myself.
“I do not need an assistant!” Basil Cross forces out the words as roughly as he can manage without actually yelling, because he’s been told to keep a handle on his temper when communicating with others, and he’s on thin enough ice as it is. “This is entirely unnecessary.”
“Unfortunately, Masterdroid,” says Jen, his liaison with the Worldwide Federation of Supervillainy, though she’s really more like an agent to an actor, most of the time. Or a handler, something which Basil has always despised, almost as much as the ridiculous “villain title” he’s been given. “It really isn’t up to you. It’s already been decided.”
“This is ludicrous,” he says. The robotic crustacean sitting on the kitchen counter preparing dinner snaps it’s claws in irritation, the screen on his front displaying an angry pixelated face; Security Crab is responding to his emotions, as all of his creations tend to and, in a show of anger, begins to clip baby carrots at an alarming speed. Basil ignores him, for the moment. “I’ve never even applied for the program. I don’t want an assistant here. I don’t need one. They’ll just be in the way!”
“I understand,” drones Jen, though there’s absolutely no way she does. “But it’s done. Look, it’s good for PR, at the very least, and I’d think you’d be grateful for the help, considering… recent events.” he can hear her drumming her fingernails on her desk. “By our estimate, nearly ninety percent of your current supply of robodroids were destroyed in your last performance. Coupling that with the damage to your body from Queen Lion…”
Basil sneers. “‘Robodroids’ is an asinine thing to call them.” he says, not for the first time. “And she had no reason to break my arm.” he grinds his teeth. “Excessive force is against the rules, or so I recall.”
“Masterdroid,” says his liaison, very slowly, “You blew up three buildings and stole over a million dollars in tech. None of that was according to script. The Federation isn’t happy about it, you know that.”
Basil sniffs. “…the buildings were an accident,” he tells her, quietly.
“So you’ve said.”
“And I thought the additional larceny would… add to the drama.”
“There are scripts for a reason, Masterdroid. Innocent people were hurt.” she’s losing patience, he can tell.
“None of them died,” he grumbles, even though he knows it’s a losing battle at this point.
He sighs, holding his phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can push a hand through his hair. “I do not want an assistant, Jen. I despise other people. Having that much social contact with another human is a nauseating prospect.”
“You can’t claim agoraphobia for everything.” Jen sounds tired. “It should be fine. You have plenty of space in your lair,”
“I’ve asked you not to call it that.”
“Laboratory, whatever. Plenty of room, without your little armada. Not to mention the four extra rooms in the townhouse itself. You might not ever even see her.” Jen pauses. “And, from what I understand, she’s a metahuman too. With a penchant for tech. I’m sure you’ll enjoy her company.”
“I don’t enjoy anyone’s company.” Basil snaps.
“Masterdroid,” she sighs, “Bas, I’m doing what I can for you, but you aren’t making it easy, alright? You could be facing serious legal charges right now. It was either that, or you bending to the Federation for a little while, and they wanted you to take on an assistant.”
“A spy, more accurately, I’m sure.” he sneers. “Someone who can keep an eye on me.”
“Yes, well, I figured you’d prefer it, considering how crowded the meta-jails can be.”
He says nothing, because she’s right, but he doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to go to jail. He doesn’t want to pay any legal fees, either, and he has lost more than the average amount of robots lately. As a matter of fact, Security Crab is the only one he has left who’s currently operational, and his size makes his abilities… limited.
Although he is really going to town on the vegetables.
But the idea of anyone in his home, walking around, touching things… speaking to him…
He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “When does she arrive?” he asks, at length.
“Should be soon. Maybe an hour.” Jen says.
The doorbell rings, loud enough that she can hear it through the phone. Security Crab leaves the celery he has been decimating to raise his claws and chime with alarm. His screen flashes an exclamation point; he snaps at Basil to alert him, as if the doorbell hasn’t done the work already.
“Or now,” Jen amends. “She could be there now. Go let her in. Call me later.” and the line drops.
Basil sighs. He puts his phone down on the counter, slowly and methodically– it’s his fifth one in the last three months, he isn’t sure if he’ll be issued another replacement if he breaks it– and tries very hard not to lose his temper. Easier said than done; he’s always been something of a hothead.
A real firecracker, says his memory, in a voice not his own. No wonder you’re so dangerous!
The doorbell rings again, then again. He shakes his head, sighs, and looks down at Security Crab. “…leave the food for now.” he says, extending a hand. “Come.” the robotic crab scuttles forward into his palm, and Basil places him on his shoulder, then turns and heads towards the front door.
He takes his time, pondering as he goes; why would the Federation choose to send him an assistant? He’s certain it must be so that they can keep a closer eye on him, but surely there are easier ways of doing so? A strange reaction to something that was an accident, all told. Well– something he claims was an accident.
He hadn’t meant to take all three buildings down at once, of course. One would have been sufficient to keep Queen Lion occupied– the explosives had simply been more powerful than he had anticipated, an oversight he doesn’t plan to repeat. The things he’d stolen had been mostly worthless to him, too, and he’d returned it all without a fuss, as expected.
But the data which Security Crab had managed to download, during the ruckus? That in itself was near priceless, for his means.
The doorbell rings again and, as Basil nears the foyer, he hears knocking to accompany it. His eyes narrow; whoever this assistant is, they’re incredibly impatient. He quickens his pace. “Enough knocking,” he calls, irritably. “I’m here.” he reaches out to unlock the door, and then opens it, squinting at the daylight which flows in.
A young woman stands on his front steps, her fist half-raised for another knock. She’s short, he notes– although it might just be that he’s very tall– and she has hair as pink as cotton candy, which seems out of place when set against her Federation uniform, or the name-tag that’s hanging from a lanyard, which is covered in so many stickers of excited cartoon characters he cannot make out her name. She’s chewing gum, too, which treads on his nerves immediately. She stares up at him with wide grey eyes, taking him in.
He isn’t certain what he expects– fear, or perhaps awe. Surprise, maybe. He is not the most infamous supervillain in the world, but he is, at least, recognizable to the average citizen. Most people find him unappealing to see, at the very least– tall, thin, with pale skin marred in odd, discolored patches down his arms and on his neck and jaw, and with the strange circuit-patterns that line his body like veins. He’s aware he can be intimidating to look at, and that has always worked in his favor, because he dislikes others.
But the woman does not shrink away, or flinch, or gasp. Instead, she blows a bubble with the gum she’s chewing, pops it, and then smiles at him, wider and more excited than he’s seen in a long time. She nearly bounces in place when she sticks out her hand. “Hiya!” she greets. Her voice could be accurately described as grating. “I’m Edie! Pleased to meetcha, boss!”
Basil grimaces. This, he thinks, is not going to be easy.
Captain America #14 by Brubaker
Have I ever mentioned how much I love the smooth jazz/classical music playing in the background of torture scenes? Because I really really love it
Would you rather be a hero raised on lies, or a villain formed by truth?
Oxana was born to be a hero.
The daughter of an ex-hero mother and late priest father, Oxana was blessed with the ability to access her soul’s sacred power of future sight without even trying. She’d always dreamed of going to the prestigious Galestone Hero Academy and joining the ranks of the elite graduates who go on to become superheros.
When she gets her lackluster grades back for her second-to-final semester, however, she questions whether or not she’s really cut out for this. Her doubts escalate when a drive-by shooting triggers memories of a life she doesn’t recognize, featuring her vicious, villainous father.
Ignoring her best friend’s protests, Oxana quits the Academy to try and put the pieces of her fractured memory back together and discover the damning truth her mother has kept hidden from her for all these years.
Wicked Blessed Souls is the first in a planned trilogy following the intertwining superhero (and villain) origin stories of three young women.
The main cast features LGBT, mentally ill, and autistic characters.
The core theme is that divinity is created; that anything can be sacred if we make it sacred.
Expected content/trigger warnings: emotional abuse (especially gaslighting), misogyny, guns, knives, blood, violence in general, alcohol, vague religious undertones (this will be updated as necessary)
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I’m designing a rogues gallery for the superhero i have mentioned previously.
Her exact backstory is intentionally unrevealed and she has a plague doctor theme. I was originally going to name her “Plague Bird” but i already have another bird-y villain named Pink Bird (Pink is bit of a joke, but i plan to use him and his name’s just perfect) Suggestions, please?
Her name is Frauke Wolff. She used to be a mortician, “things happened”, and now she’s a back alley doctor and a mad scientist, her main motivation to satisfy her morbid curiosity by using corpses and sometimes living subjects in her experiments. She’s cheerfully deranged and generally inspired by Medic from Team Fortress 2. She didn’t set out to become a supervillain, but rolls with it because she finds it exciting. Her superpower is regeneration, caused by her strange blood she can also use to regenerate others if she injects them with it or pours it into the wound, but her blood’s ability immediately starts “watering down” once outside her veins, rendering the effect on others temporary and the blood itself unstudiable. She wears a metallic plague doctor mask, and on her left hand is a syringe device similiar to the one woren by Scarecrow in Batman: Arkham Asylum. For the rest of her outfit, i haven’t really made up my mind yet.
Hello my friends! The last two weeks have been nice and now i feel super refreshed and ready to churn out some art! I redesigned Undead Queen, and was going to do the same to Bonemeal, but i honestly think his design is close to perfect, barring some extra detailing i may add somewhere down the line. Also i finally designed my Batman-esque side character: Insomniac!