Villian of the week club CHP 1

Prologue 
Alarms blared throughout the sterile factory, red lights flickered on and off, and an unignorable buzzing danced through the corridors as people ran through the crowded halls. Men and women in white coats screamed over each other as they pushed toward the exits. Security guards held back a flood of civilians with fiberglass riot shields. The sea of people pushed against the security guards, slowly inching them toward the monorail. Hundreds of technicians, engineers, janitors, and office workers all wailed over the loudspeaker’s racket.

A large bald man in a construction worker’s uniform found the purchase to ram the guard in front of him. The guard stumbled back, only a few steps, but instantly the wall of frantic people pushed into the gap. The guard fell to the floor as people began to stampede toward the evacuating scientists. The standing line of guards knew that there was no hope in plugging the leak or saving their comrade. One of the guards, a young man with dirty blonde hair and a locket around his neck, raised his gun and fired.

The bald man fell to the floor, to be trampled by his fellow escapees; the gunshot somehow was deafening in the thunderous room; for a moment, it was quiet enough to hear the thud of the body hit the floor, then the hysterical screams once more filled the air.

Another gunshot, then another, and the guards stood strong against the current that swarmed around them; whenever someone grew too close to the last few scientists climbing hastily into the monorail, he fell. A woman sprinted ahead of the pack, knocking down and dooming two others; a shot rang out; she fell forward, into the closing doors of the monorail.

An audible air of despair rang out, but it was quickly replaced by a shout of pure hatred. The swarm of hopeless men and women turned their rage against the guards, clawing at them, tackling, biting, and doing anything they could. Shots rang out at a frantic pace, not like the cool and calculated aiming that had led the near escapees to their dooms; the crowd, which before had been dysfunctional and selfish, instantly transformed into a well-coordinated horde.

The alarm stopped. Silence fell over the crowd. Everyone became aware of a rhythmic clicking. A man turned the corner of the long hallway, and someone screamed. He held up a single hand in greeting. The room began to grow warm as the man approached. He wore a black jumpsuit with a single gold pin; his hair was unnaturally orange. The room grew warmer, the man paused, the crowd cowered, and someone near the back began to run toward the empty monorail station.

“Do you know who I am?” The man asked,

The crowd was silent. Then a voice called out, “Pheonix!”

“Yes.” He said monotone.

Phoenix grew closer, and the crowd drew back instinctively. “Why are you afraid of me?”

No one spoke up.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

A loud, echoing boom sounded through the hallway as a gun fired for the second-to-last time that night. The bullet whizzed through the air; it grew closer to its target, then it clattered to the floor. “I don’t understand.”

He stooped down to pick up the bullet. “What did I ever do to you?”

The bullet sizzled in his hand, then turned into a small silver puddle that clung to his skin.

“Filthy Volomite!” A voice from the crowd hissed,

The crowd parted to reveal the speaker, everyone frantically inching away from the man.

Pheonix furrowed his brow. "I'm... sorry? I can’t help that.”

The man was old, but some amount of blood splattered his shirt, and his nose was crooked. “Go back to your Lycopene masters!” He shouted, taking a step forward.

“I would love to, but I can’t seem to find anyone except for you lovely folks.” Pheonix said

“Their gone! The war is over!” A woman shouted before burrowing into the crowd.

“The war is never over,” Pheonix said, laughing.

“Until it is.” A new voice said this one was young and vaguely masculine. The crowd reacted to his presence as if an angel had come down from the heavens to save them.

The thing that spoke was tall, far too tall, scraping against the roof and crouching down to stare Pheonix in the eyes; it was thin and spindly, like a tree branch, with many arms and not nearly enough legs; it was white like the sterile walls, and its mouth hung open and flapped uselessly as it spoke; it did not have eyes. “The Lycopene has been delt with. They will not damage any other species like they have with humanity.”

Pheonix was not sure where the thing had come from; its voice was pleasant enough, but its form was grotesque, nothing like the measured and pruned bodies of the Lycopene. He collected himself and spoke. “There is no damage in what the Lycopene have done; there is power, intentional, gifted power.”

“Andrew, you have not been human in a very long time.” The creature said, “And you will never be again.”

“That is ridiculous; of course Volomites are humans." Pheonix said, slightly annoyed now.

“Not by your own laws." The creature pushed gently. “Your people were built to be an army; you cannot safely interact with humanity; you cannot produce offspring with them; you are a weapon, Andrew Pheonix. Would you like to be more?”

CHP 1: Blackout

Jackel had been doing his best to ignore the blackout in the corner. The Blackout suits were made in a camouflage pattern, created by a mask with abilities relating to darning; they blended into any background; that effect was partly ruined when someone was albino, however. Like the Blackout, who had been sitting in on the daily club meetings for the past week. Jackel didn’t consider himself to be a curious sort of person, but there was something off about the Blackout other than his bright white hair. The guy should’ve worn a beanie; he was already wearing sunglasses. How hard could it be? Jackel had never gotten the appeal of going blackout; he barely went unmasked if he could help it.

There were five people in the club, all heavy Maskers, like himself. Jackel had arrived first; if you didn’t count the Blackout leaning against the wall, the others had yet to arrive. His eyes stared blankly at the walls; posters of the V-Code filled them. Jackel had always wondered why they needed to keep the codes posted up everywhere; it's not like anyone would forget them. He had chosen to follow Villian when he was in his third year, but he still knew H, AH, and AV; everyone did. They never bothered to put up posters of the rules.

The administrator, a shrewd and hunched over old man with glasses too small for his face named Professor Harold, entered the room. He adjusted his brown suit and tie and sat down in his yellow reclining chair at what he insisted was the ‘head’ of the circle that the metal folding chairs were placed in. Jackel had no idea what Harold’s Mask might be—probably super accounting or something.

“You are here rather early today, are you not Jackel?” The professor liked to keep his sentences as long as possible; he continued in a squeaky voice. “That is quiet gladdening; if you work on your punctuality, it will help with your sense of dramatic timing, which, with a mask like yours, is a skill you are going to need to master if you want to be ranked highly.”

Jackel smiled, rather forcefully, under the mummy wrappings that made up his mask. “I’ll work on it, professor.” He said he had heard that spiel about fifty times by now, but it would do him no good to snap at Harold.

An example in dramatic timing incarnate, Doki swept into the room; her mask, like most transformations, wasn’t an actual mask; instead, it manifested as an ornate dark purple dress that fell down to her ankles, about as dark as you could get without going Blackout; he wasn’t sure if the black hair that fell down to her waist was also part of the mask; she wore a matching purple headband and earrings, while her eyes were a soft shade of lilac. A black ribbon ran around her waist, and magikentically affixed to it was a purple microphone. Doki sat in her chair; she appeared younger than Jackel, but with transformations, you could never tell. Magical items typically came in sets of three or five and would appear near an infant, occasionally accompanied by an animal that was a mixture of a bunny, cat, and fox. Jackel didn’t have the guts to ask if she was part of a set or not.

“Welcome.” Harold said,

Jackel parroted him, and Doki sat down, somehow managing to appear disinterested and not bored at the same time. Next to arrive was Gargoyle, seven feet tall with the build of a shadow; even though he wore black, you could never mistake him for a Blackout. His wings wrapped limply around his shoulders, giving them the appearance of a cape; he had large horns that sprung from his head and red, glowing eyes that gave off a hint of smoke. He was made of some kind of black vapor and had claws that could cut through solid steel. Jackel had no idea how old he was; he couldn’t have been too old. Goyle would’ve had a promising future career as the Dragon for a major villain just by his mask alone, even though he didn’t talk. If it wasn’t for his sheer incompetence, oh sure, he’d win in a pure brawl; he’d beaten Jackel plenty of times, but every exam he’d rank lowest and didn’t seem to have a thought behind his death stare. It put him in a situation where he would probably end up rampaging for a day before getting locked up, then bust out in one of the big prison breaks every few weeks, only to get caught again soon after.

The room was quiet for a long time, the four of them and the Blackout waiting expectantly at the door for the last two members of the club to arrive. The clock ticked past starting time, and just as the start bell was about to ring, two people tumbled in, tripping over each other in the doorway. Doremi and Fasola were twins; Doremi was a bit taller than his sister, but they did look alike. They were the only ones in the club to wear traditional masks. Fasola wore a court jester outfit, green and white stripped bloomers, a solid green shawl (with bells), pointy shoes, a goofy hat that her longish brown hair fell out the back of, a basic eye mask, the whole shebang. Doremi was a little more reserved, although he was also a jester. His motif was red, and he wore matching bloomers, a mask, and a shawl (without the bells); he didn’t wear the jester hat, though, or the shoes. Doremi was higher ranked than his sister, and he had wanted to go into Anti Villainy but ended up going full Villian to stay with Fasola; they both, unsurprisingly, had sound-based powers. Jackel wasn’t entirely sure what they did, however, because the twins tended to rely on acrobatics and hand-to-hand before using their mask.

“Told you we’d make it.” Fasola said, elbowing Doremi as the bell chimed in the background.

“Did we make it?” Doremi asked Harold,

“Yes, you did make it; now would you two please take a seat so that we may begin the club meeting already?” Harold said,

Doremi and Fasola took the final seats, and Harold took a moment before clearing his throat. “Please stand for the pledge.”

The five Masked stood and began to recite in unison; even the Blackout and Harold joined in.

“I solemnly swear upon this soil that in every breath and every toil,

I will remember my oath to uphold our growth and follow the rules that have been written.

To force none to stay or leave, upon Volom’s land or Brink’s eve

To make no ensnarement without a foil

To never unmask who you are loyal

To never speak blackout unless same

To never use power without a mask or maim

To never steal what isn’t offered

To never save those who’ve slaughtered

To avoid what damage can be done

To protect the Isles of Volom.”

The pledge ended and everyone sat down again before Harold cleared his throat. “Would anyone like to begin?”

Doki raised her hand.

Harold nodded to her. “Yes, yes, go ahead.” He said Doki started most club meetings.

“The Snare-Lock fight, who saw it?” Doki asked,

Jackel grinned behind his mask. Goyle leaned back in his chair and nodded once. Fasola looked like she was trying to hide a laugh.

“Oh, I saw it alright.” Doremi grumbled, “Lost twenty shrings on it too.”

“I was surprised that they ran into each other; Ensnare typically stays near the Brink; it's kind of painful to watch.” Jackel said,

Fasola suddenly chimed in, "Oh, it was fine; I won twenty Shrings on it.”

Harold cleared his throat. “That is a wonderful topic choice for today, Doki. Let's see how we can dissect what went wrong for Ensnare, shall we?”

"Well, for one,” Doremi said. “They stalemated within thirty seconds. Triplock is a stage above him; he should’ve bailed.”

“I can see how Ensnare thought he had a chance at it though; Triplock has a pretty strict set of rouges, and none of them are foils.” Jackel said, cracking his knuckles.

“Snare wasn’t in his prowling grounds; he should’ve been cautious.” Fasola said,

“The heist itself too, just not a good idea, broad daylight, and during the 9th Street Blackout.” Doki said, shaking her head.

“If he’d pulled it off though..." Doremi said,

“Would’ve been pretty cool.” Jackel said,

Goyel nodded.

Harold nodded as well, then redirected the conversation. “What about the actual fight?”

“Ensnare shouldn’t have confronted him into a head-on fight; he should’ve tried to tag him out or flee.” Doremi said,

Jack shook his head. “A full confrontation was his only chance; Triplock’s Mask has a higher range. Immobilization is a distance game.”

“Ok,” Doremi said, “but Triplock would’ve been too preoccupied with the Unmasked Hench to properly chase down Ensnare, and he could’ve escaped with part of the loot.”

“What kind of hero goes after the unmasked first?” Doki said with a scoff,

Goyle nodded in agreement.

“Triplock does; since unmasked prisons are less likely to have breakouts as frequently, it gets him a lower rank, but his sector deals with less crime.” Fasola said,

“Lame.” Doki said, “Who would even want to heist with that guy around?”

“Sounds like that’s the point.” Jackel said, “I did notice a few heroes from his sector relocating to more villain-populated areas; Triplock is going to be the highest ranked in Marcsworth if he keeps that up.”

“Do you think that he will get an official claim?” Harold asked.

Google shook his head.

“No.” Jackel said slowly. “I don’t think so; his rank isn’t high; even if Marcsworth is a small town, he doesn’t have the notoriety to get a claim; he is mostly just pushing other heroes with wide patrols to avoid the area and is getting the villains annoyed enough to shove off to greener pastures; unless he gets a Nemesis or a few of his rogues rank up, I don’t see this lasting for very long, before he gets bored and goes Blackout for a while and picks up a different mask.”

“Yeah.” Doki said, “The Ensnare fight should’ve been fun to watch; neither of them had fought a foil before, but Triplock isn’t paying any attention to the entertainment value of his catches; he cut off Snare’s monologue and didn’t even do it at one of the punch breaks, like, he’s just being impolite at this point.”

“I don’t think the fight was so bad to watch, but after treatment like that, Ensnare is never going to go back to Marcsworth; all his crew got arrested, and I watch Ensnare regularly; those were his regulars; he isn’t going to be breaking out anytime soon.” Fasola said,

Goyle nodded, and Doremi added, “As far as the fight goes, Snare got in some solid hits at first, but after they both got tagged, it was just slow.”

“What do you think about how the clean-up was handled?” Harold asked,

Instantly the kids all groaned and began to talk at once; even Goyle crossed his arms and huffed.

“Lock called the lugs too late, and they took forever to arrive.”

“Did you see that one guy that unfroze then had to be chased down for like, three blocks?”

"Terrible; it was literally terrible. I have never seen a slower clean-up.”

“Unmasked started picking up the rings.“

“The lug driver almost sprung Ensnare; he got so mad.“

“I think they just walked away, right?”

“-made the lugs look bad.”

Harold eventually raised a hand for quiet, and the group hushed down. “Does anyone else have anything that they would like to add before we move on?”

The room was silent. “Very well, then let us continue.”

Jackel leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling like someone was watching him. It took him a moment to glance in the corner where the Blackout stood, having mostly forgotten he was there. The Blackout was staring directly at him. Jackel couldn’t help but feel unnerved.

Villain of the Week Club Terminology Guide

Mask: used to refer to the actual mask the person is wearing or to their ability, sometimes both.

Masked: When someone is currently in their powered identity

Masking: When someone is doing superpowered activities

Unmasked: civilian identity

Blackout: When someone is injured or doesn’t want to be mugged, damseled, or otherwise superbly inconvenienced by whoever is currently masking, full areas can go on blackout when there has been a large fight in the area.

Foil: Used to describe either the inherent flaw built into every prison or trap or to describe two people that have powers that would inherently oppose each other, either by being extremely similar or opposites.

Lug: Effectively the Hench for Heroes, Unmasked, who collect criminals, guard prisons, and respond to Hero calls.

Hench: Unmasked who work as crews for villains