Accidental Villainy 20

The shopping trip had been fun … but not enough to make me forget the challenge I was facing. As I waited for the delivery of the drinks, I played with my new puzzle, trying to understand why it was triggering my power. 

I failed. For one, I had never been a particularly avid puzzler, so I didn’t have a strategy to solve it. But that was only a minimal reason. 

The real reason was the security feed I was getting from the security cameras. There was a serious crowd gathering near our bar, their numbers and nervousness suggesting that Tyler wasn’t able to hold back his tongue about what I had revealed. 

Not something outside my expectations, but it didn’t mean I treated it as good news. 

Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The gang members didn’t gather around my bar to threaten me. No, they didn’t even show their presence, but actually stayed on the surrounding streets, trying to make their presence accidental while they observed comings and goings. They didn’t even harass the truck that dropped me the drinks. 

They were afraid of starting a confrontation. They were afraid of even testing me. 

It meant, from now on, I was truly accepted as the henchman of a nonexistent villain. 

Meaning, I was a potential villain rival, worthy of observing. Not exactly something I could avoid while I was in the crosshairs of a villain like the Slasher. 

“At least I didn’t have to worry about heroes,” I muttered as I flipped the puzzle a few more times before I sighed and put it under the bar. 

I didn’t have to worry about the heroes, because they would never care about the outskirts of the town, too poor to be worthwhile. 

Who would have thought that there would come a day I would be happy about the hypocrisy of the heroes?

Luckily, just as I was about to fall into despair, the one person that constantly brightened my day walked down. Tara. 

Wearing the new costume I had bought for her while shopping. 

“H-how do I look?” she whispered, her voice coming out more threatening thanks to the reinforced motorcycle helmet she was wearing. 

The outfit wasn’t’ particularly clever. Leather pants and a leather jacket, both loose enough to hide the truth of her assets, and a black shirt underneath. Motorcycle helmet, gloves, and boots completed the view while covering every inch of her skin. 

Altogether, I was going for anonymity. Not because I expected anyone to actually fail to realize one of the two people in the bar was the mysterious bodyguard — that was too late to fix. No, I just wanted to make a point. 

Supers, both heroes and villains, were rather determined about their own identity, wearing very distinct — often revealing — outfits that truly highlighted their specialness. Quite narcissistic, of course, wanting to be noticed and identified the moment they appeared, but it would be a lie to say I didn’t understand. 

I would have shown off as well if I received something like the ability to summon lightning or spit magma. 

Instead, I was hunkered on my little bar, thanking my lucky stars that Tara had decided to respond to that help-wanted sign. 

However, that general inclination to show off and highlight their identity was why Tara’s outfit — which looked something like a mere henchman would wear — mattered. Her super strength was very distinct, and I displayed it deliberately by making her rip off the hood of their car. 

Yet, despite her power, she was willing to abandon her chance to show off and follow our mysterious — not existing helped there very much — master villain, implying that they had to be very strong. 

A surprisingly effective bluff. 

However, I realized that while I was lost in thoughts, Tara was still waiting for an answer. 

“Luckily, not too good,” I said, answering her earlier question, watching her wilt slightly despite her costume that was supposed to hide her reactions. This time, it wasn’t even my power, the way her shoulders dropped was too visible. I needed to train her more. But not before fixing her self-esteem. “Which is good, as I don’t want a bunch of drunk to ogle you. You’re mine, and mine only,” I followed, my tone exaggerated and sharp. 

It worked wondrously to fix her mood. 

“Really,” she said, her ego still fragile. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come here and I’ll show you,” I said, ready to have a little more fun, but just as she was about to take a step forward, I gestured for her to stop with a frown on my face. 

We had guests. From one of the cameras, I saw several people walking toward the bar, though none of them dressed like henchmen at first glance. At least, not the kind that would work for the Slasher. 

Interesting.  

Though, still, horrible timing as always. 

“We have guests approaching. You remember what we discussed about your acting.” 

“Yes, sir. Sit on the corner table, look at the bar, and give no reaction no matter what’s being talked about unless you give a signal.” 

“Excellent work,” I said, complimenting her. “Do that perfectly, and you can pick your reward tonight,” I said. 

“Yes, sir,” she whispered in excitement, her body language shouting joy as she dashed to her seat. I kept my gaze on her for a moment, making sure she wasn’t too giddy. Luckily, her obsession with following orders worked excellently as she took her seat transforming something close to a still statue. 

I could still catch signs of restlessness, but only when relying on my power. 

Things would work excellently unless they had a similar observation power … but if they did, I had far bigger problems already. Tara was hardly the only one that was creating such a mismatch. 

I turned the approaching figures. Six people, four of them bodyguards, good ones considering the way they passively observed their surroundings to make sure there was no threat. Their tailored suits, the kind that required quite a bit of money to purchase highlighted their position further. 

Despite the poor vision from the cameras, I could count three weapons on each of them, further highlighting their danger. 

Without Tara, I would have started running away. They were not the usual incompetent hopeful that the villains picked off the street, but something more. I had no idea why such men were visiting me.

Worse, my fake identity meant that I should know that, giving me very little time to get an understanding, of pick an attitude to cover it. 

I turned my attention to the other two, hoping that I would be able to get a clue. I recognized one of them. Or, more accurately, I recognized the blade he was carrying. Another follower of the Slasher, though with a higher ranking than my good friend Tyler. 

However, those bodyguards were certainly not a part of the Slasher’s gang. 

Which meant, he wasn’t my problem. The other one was. A man in his fifties, good-looking, dressed impeccably. His suits were even more impressive than what his bodyguards wore, probably costing more than a midline sports car, and he wore a classic watch. 

He had no weapon, but he moved with confidence. 

A dangerous man. Worse, considering he was making the first contact with an unknown element — me and my non-existent backer — it was a certainty that he was working for another, even more dangerous man. 

I needed a way to intimate him. 

My gaze slipped to Tara, and I corrected my thoughts. I needed to intimidate them in a way that wouldn’t earn an immediate physical retaliation. 

I had no choice but to rely on my power. I turned my attention to the way they approached, doing my best to read everything about the man that was approaching. For the first time, I tried to push my power to the limit. 

And, to my surprise, I realized that it was actually possible. 

An immediate headache hit me, but along with it, came a flood of information that would have otherwise required a fine study of character. The way he walked, his cultural heritage, even his food habits — thanks to the fresh stain on the sleeve of the Slasher’s henchmen, who no doubt had dined with the man in question moments before they arrived — and a bunch of other information that almost useless. 

I stopped only when it became truly unbearable, and held on the bar. Tara looked at me worriedly. “Don’t worry, I’m just practicing something,” I said, hiding my pain. No need to show her just how vulnerable I was … or the existence of my power. 

Not yet. 

I ignored the pain, and mixed all the information I had collected thanks to my power … to mix a perfect Whiskey Sour for the man, even going as far as one of the most expensive but unusual brands of scotch I had, with a suffocating smoky palette. 

Like a forest fire, people defined. 

Just as I was putting the finishing touches, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” I called as I took a deep breath. 

My first real test.