The Rules of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 1) Read online

  The Rules of Supervillainy

  by

  C.T. Phipps

  Copyright © 2015 by Charles T. Phipps

  Published by

  Amber Cove Publishing

  PO Box 9605

  Chesapeake, VA 23321

  Cover design by Raffaele Marinetti

  Visit his online gallery at http://www.raffaelemarinetti.it/

  Cover lettering by Terry Stewart

  Back cover layout by David Wood

  Interior book layout by Jim Bernheimer

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Visit the author’s website at http://unitedfederationofcharles.blogspot.com/

  First Publication: June 2015

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  This novel is dedicated to my lovely wife, Kat, and the many other wonderful people who made this book possible. Special thanks to Jim, Shana, Rakie, Matthew, Sonja, Bobbie, Devan, Tim, Joe, Thom, and everyone else.

  C.T. Phipps

  Foreword from the Publisher

  Preface

  Chapter One

  My First Outing as a Supervillain

  Chapter Two

  Where I Tell the Wife

  Chapter Three

  Where I Discover the Limits of My Powers

  Chapter Four

  Where I Recruit My First Henchpersons

  Chapter Five

  Where I Learn the Basics of Effective Supervillainy

  Chapter Six

  My Motivations for Becoming a Supervillain

  Chapter Seven

  Bad Dreams and Memories

  Chapter Eight

  The Ethics of Being a Supervillain

  Chapter Nine

  Promises are Made to be Broken (or Destined)

  Chapter Ten

  Where I Get My Supervillain Digs

  Chapter Eleven

  Where I Learn My Secret Origin

  Chapter Twelve

  Where My Wife Reveals Her Dream

  Chapter Thirteen

  Where I Encounter My First Zombies

  Chapter Fourteen

  Where I Discover the Problem with Killing Superheroes

  Chapter Fifteen

  Meeting the Society of Superheroes

  Chapter Sixteen

  Where I Get the Book Thrown at Me

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Great Supervillain Riot

  Chapter Eighteen

  Where I Deal with My New Partner

  Chapter Nineteen

  Where I Discover that Sci-Fi Horror is Still Horror

  Chapter Twenty

  America’s Sweetheart and I Hash Things Out

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Where I Earn My Maccabean Street Cred

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Ghosts of the Past are the Hardest to Exorcise

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My Awkward, Awkward Conversation with My Ex

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Oh Come on, There’s More? I Thought the Big Monster was the Climax

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Things go from Bad to Worse (It’s a Frequent thing)

  Epilogue

  Where I Find Out What’s Been Going On

  About the Author

  Foreword from the Publisher

  As an author, I’ve managed to make a small impression on the literary landscape; perhaps the equivalent of a divot on a golf course or maybe a small water hazard on those days that I’m feeling a bit full of myself. After putting out a few successful independent speculative novels on my personal imprint, a few brave, or perhaps foolhardy, authors began asking me if I would consider publishing their novels.

  Until now, my answer has always been no. I simply wasn’t ready for that level of responsibility. Done well, it brings an author’s dreams to reality, but done poorly and it is the stuff that ruins friendships and leads to bitter feelings at the very least.

  This series and this author are worth taking that chance. In truth, I don’t consider it much of a risk, because if I didn’t thoroughly enjoy what you are about to read, I wouldn’t have been the publisher. It’s just that simple.

  I wanted Charles to be involved with my new imprint when I met him in The Pendulum writing group we both participated in. He can spin an entertaining yarn and do it with style. When he told me he had a supervillain manuscript in the works, I was eager to give it a look and knew this story would be a worthy flagship title for Amber Cove.

  To make a long story short, he has crafted a story that I am proud to associate my name with and I hope you enjoy the adventures of Merciless as much as I have.

  Jim Bernheimer

  Preface

  Who would ever want to be a supervillain?

  I pondered this question while sitting down to write my first superhero novel. I’ve always felt there was a dearth of superheroic literature and have even written a couple of essays on it.

  Being a supervillain seems like a pretty raw deal. You get beat up all the time and while you don’t stay in prison very long, you bust out just to get beaten up again. There’re some perks, especially if you have a gorgeous underling or a kickass secret lair, but these are outweighed by the drawbacks.

  You’d have to be crazy to want to be a supervillain.

  Then again, superheroes and supervillains live in a crazy world.

  Superpowers violate every law of physics, the world is endangered every other week, superheroes wield the power to level planets, and supervillains can resist regular law enforcement like a rooftop resists raindrops.

  Regular humans are trapped in a world where they don’t matter, and only the opinions of dueling demigods are important. That’s when my hook hit me. In a world where everything is exaggerated and surreal, why not be the bad guy?

  I’ve never wanted to be ‘normal’ and could imagine someone who doesn’t have the fortitude to be a hero wanting to be the reverse because it’s an escape from mundane.

  People want to stand out and be something and The Rules of Supervillainy’s protagonist, Merciless, a.k.a. Gary Karkofsky, dares the world see him.

  The Rules of Supervillainy makes no attempt to be realistic. There’re plenty of people who have created more grounded or “realistic” superheroes. I have no interest in this, though. No, my world is unabashedly unrealistic and proudly so.

  It is the result of me sticking every comic book I’ve ever read in a blender and hitting frappe. I wear my inspirations on my sleeve from reading Marvel, DC, Image, and playing a decade of superhero-themed tabletop RPGs. Something akin to every comic book story ever written has taken place in this world and the planet still stands.

  Barely.

  I invite you to join Merciless on his first day on the “job” after gaining superpowers. He’s a lunatic, a cartoon, and someone I’d probably run the other way from if I met him in real life but I still love him.

  If I’ve done my job right, at the end of this book you’ll be rooting for the bad guy

  Chapter One

  My First Outing as a Supervillain

  “Cloak, do you think I should cultivate a villain voice?” I asked, staring out at the city horizon from a rooftop.

  “Pardon?” The hooded cloak of my all-black costume telepathically said. Its ‘voice’ was dry and otherworldly, as if Christopher Lee had Darth Vader’s reverb. I
n fact, it was Cloak’s way of speaking which had inspired me to consider changing mine.

  “Something deep and gravelly to strike fear into the masses. You see all these amateurs today and none of them have the panache of the bad guys I grew up with. Don’t you agree?”

  “I think your plan to become a supervillain is stupid enough as is,” Cloak said in my mind.

  “Spoilsport.”

  We were standing on top of the twenty-story Falconcrest City National Bank, a place where I’d worked until a month ago, practicing my newly-acquired powers. I’d been Merciless: The Supervillain Without Mercy ™ for less than twenty-four hours. In a city filled with countless costumed criminals, I was fresh off the boat. Hell, I didn’t even have a record. The one thing I did have was powers.

  Superpowers.

  The weird thing was, they’d been acquired by chance. Yesterday, someone had dropped off an unmarked set of cardboard boxes filled with files, equipment, and the Nightwalker’s magic cloak.

  The Nightwalker had been the patron superhero of Falconcrest City since the Thirties but had been announced as dead by the Society of Superheroes less than a week ago. Coincidentally, the city’s two biggest philanthropists in the Warren Brothers had died too. I had no idea how the Nightwalker’s stuff had ended up on my doorstep and, more to the point, I didn’t care.

  A better man might have wanted to follow in the Nightwalker’s footsteps, but I was a poorer one. As in financially. I was eager to begin my reign of terror over the city. As long as I didn’t have to kill anyone.

  “Most people would consider killing to be a necessary component for a reign of terror,” Cloak said, reading my thoughts. That was one of the downsides to my new powers; they came with a built-in conscience.

  “I heard that,” I thought back.

  “I don’t care. I’m not most people. I can shoot fire from my hands, conjure ice, levitate, turn insubstantial, and take being hit by a car. I don’t need to kill. I mean, if they’re bad, sure, I’ll take them out but not just because. I’m not crazy.”

  “Ugh.” Cloak sighed, despite having no lungs. “I suppose I should get used to your peculiar logic. We’re going to be bonded for a long time and you alone can determine how to use your newfound gifts.”

  “I intend to use them to make a lot of money by taking it from other people. It’s the family tradition!”

  “You refer to your brother, Stingray?”

  “Yeah.” Keith was my reason for becoming a supervillain He’d died when I was fourteen, in a particularly nasty way.

  What followed had been worse.

  Cloak was silent for a moment, respectful of my pain. “Now, can we talk about the downsides to our bond?”

  “Sure. Lay them on me.” I lifted my right hand and generated a ball of flame which hovered in the air for several seconds. “What, am I vulnerable to purple or lose my powers on holy ground?”

  “Unless your abilities are used on a regular basis, the cosmic balance will go out of synch within the confines of Falconcrest City. This will result in the re-animation of the departed.”

  I blinked, not sure I’d heard that right. “Could you repeat that?”

  “Ravenous undead will rise en masse if you do not use your powers every day.”

  “Zombies?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Frigging zombies are going to rise if I don’t use my powers?”

  “Flesh-eating undead are ghouls not zombies but, yes, more or less.”

  “That’s a pretty big drawback.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Nightwalker knew about this?”

  “He was aware of the downside, yes. It’s why he was always using his powers.”

  “I just thought he was obsessive about fighting crime.” I rubbed my temples. This was starting to seem like responsibility. “Anything else I should know about?”

  “You will be harassed by the ghosts of the dead. Those who have been murdered and their killers uncaught will be your most frequent visitors.”

  “So, unless I pursue my new career twenty-four-seven the city will go all George Romero. Likewise, I’m going to be the kid from The Sixth Sense from now on.”

  “You’ve lost me with your colloquialisms but yes.”

  I thought through all of the implications. “I’m okay with it.”

  “Really?” Cloak sounded skeptical.

  “Yep!”

  “You’re taking this well.”

  “Well, I figure it’s a case of no pain, no gain. If I complained now after getting superpowers, I’d just come off as a tremendous dink.” I looked down onto the city, taking in its vast wealth—all of which I intended to plunder. “There’s nothing too bad about these drawbacks, anyway. I have no intention of quitting my new career. That should keep the zombie population down. As for the ghosts, well I’ll avoid cemeteries and morgues.”

  “Your cavalier attitude frightens me.”

  “Some things you do for love.” I winced, the word love made me realize I had a big problem on my hands. “Now I just need to figure out how I’m going to break this to Mandy.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Yeah, who else?”

  I wasn’t going to be one of those supers who kept their secret identities secret even from their spouses. Supervillainy seemed like the sort of thing you needed to be upfront with your spouse about.

  Unfortunately, there was the slight fact that Mandy hadn’t been raised in the lifestyle. She had almost no experience other than some college experimentation. The trick was figuring out how to broach the subject without her going ballistic.

  “Perhaps she will be understanding about the fact you’re going to put her in constant danger as well as make the world an objectively worse place by your presence.”

  “Let’s hope!”

  I was saved from having to think on the subject further by the sound of an alarm going off. I was surprised I could hear it until I realized it was coming from the bank itself. Pulling out the pair of binoculars I brought, I saw a group of thieves moving in and out of the building’s front doors.

  The bandits were dressed in Eskimo parkas and travelling in an ice cream truck with a rotating polar bear head. They were loading it up with bags of money as they shooed away pedestrian... with Uzis. Yikes.

  I had to salute their choice of getaway car. An ice cream truck was the perfect vehicle for a nefarious gang of ne’er-do-wells. Let other thieves use inconspicuous white vans, Falconcrest City criminals traveled in theme.

  “Oh those jackasses!” I shouted.

  “What?”

  “I was going to rob this bank!” I shouted. I hadn’t put much thought in my supervillainous debut, but I wasn’t about to be shown up on my first day. “Okay, Cloak, how do I do the intangible thing?”

  “Just think... intangible. It’s like ordering your arm to flex.”

  “Okay!” I gave a shout, thinking of passing down through the floors beneath me. I was surprised when it worked. I heard a number of screams as I descended past hundreds of employees. Apparently, they’d never seen a caped man moving through things like a ghost.

  When I landed on the ground floor, I got a good look at the bank and the people robbing it. The Falconcrest City First National Bank was pretty typical as corrupt metropolitan banks went. There were teller windows, fancy carpets, and a huge vault door just waiting to be robbed.

  Of course, the huge icicles hanging from the ceiling and skating-rink-like ice spread around the floor were new. So were all of the customers and personnel on the ground with their hands behind their head.

  Five or six-cold-weather-costume-wearing hoodlums armed with assault rifles were already emptying out the vault. Their leader, the Ice Cream Man, was leaning up against the frozen form of what I suspected was the bank president. Thankfully, none of them were looking in my direction.

  The Ice Cream Man was the Malt Shop Gang’s leader, and the third-most famous supervillain in the city. He was dressed in a pink button-down shirt, whi
te pants, suspenders, and a little paper hat. The Ice Cream Man also had cut off his lips and sharpened his teeth to shark-like levels. It was pretty damned scary, and reminded me not everyone took supervillainy in quite the same easy going manner as myself.

  Also noteworthy was a girl standing on the other side of the deceased bank president, holding a two handed gun which looked like it came from the 40th century. She was an attractive girl with long red hair, shades, and a furry hood. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t place it.

  “The Ice Cream Man, shit just got real,” I muttered. I hadn’t expected one of America’s worst domestic terrorists to be making an appearance here. It was too late to back out now, though.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Not at all. But I’ve got an entrance to make.”

  “Fine.” Cloak sounded irritated. “Get yourself killed. We’re only bonded for life after all.”

  “Ice Cream Man!” I hissed in throatiest grave-like voice I could muster, drawing the gang’s attention. “You’ve made a big mistake coming to my city.”

  “Wait; are you a supervillain or a superhero? I’m confused.”

  I didn’t get to respond because the Ice Cream Man’s reaction to my threat was to say, “Kill this idiot!”

  The other members of the Malt Shop Gang pulled out their guns and started shooting at me. You had to admire their discipline since they dropped at least a dozen bags of money to murder me.

  I was still intangible, however. Thus, all of the bullets flew through me. Lifting up my hands, I started causing the crook’s guns to catch fire one by one. It worked well, causing most of them to drop their weapons and stare at me in horrified shock. The one exception was one of the robbers who caught fire instead of his gun and ran out of the bank screaming.

  I needed to work on my aim, it seemed. Well, practice makes perfect.

  “Holy shit!” One of the gang members shouted, staring at me in horror. “It’s the Nightwalker! He’s back from the dead!”

  “No.” I raised a finger to correct him. “I’m not the Nightwalker. I’m—”