My eagerness to beat the Rubes at their own game lasted exactly as long as it took to stumble down the stairs to my secret lair, pull off my tutu, and lie down on my beaten-up couch for a well-deserved rest. As soon as I closed my eyes, the dead weather reporter’s face rose up behind my eyelids, shocking me awake and sending all my grand schemes fleeing from my head.

For hours, I tossed and turned, struggling to push aside his face, but to no avail. At last I gave up on sleep, and settled for pacing back and forth across the damp floor, busily tying the red scarf Bea had knit for me into a complicated series of knots.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head,” I muttered, smacking the soft wool scarf into my forehead with each word, as though that would knock out any unwanted images and regrets. Regret wasn’t an emotion supervillains were supposed to feel. We were supposed to be ruthless and brutal, willing to do anything to take over the city we had been assigned.

I slumped onto the worn-out couch that was the only piece of furniture in my lair so far, aside from a large table that I had simply flipped over and slid down the narrow steps. Tossing the red scarf back onto the pile of ‘Delphi clothes’, as I thought of them, I dropped my head into my hands.

“I guess I’m just not a very good supervillain,” I told the pile of clothes, blinking hard to get rid of the burning sensation in my eyes. As far as recommended supervillain actions went, crying was so far down the list it might as well be buried in the core of the Earth. I might not be a very good supervillain, but I was damned if I was going to cry.

Abruptly, I stood and swept the clothes off the table, as though all my pent up tears could be used up in that single action. They flopped unsatisfactorily to the floor, but as they did so a piece of paper slipped from my sweater pocket and fluttered lazily down to land on top of the clothes.

I knelt and retrieved the paper with a trembling hand. Turning it over, Gran’s words met my eyes, the scrawling words imprinting themselves into my mind.

Don’t give in. Make them fear you.

Gran was right. So what if couldn’t commit murder with ruthless efficiency? I had still pulled off several successful capers and avoided capture by Fireball on multiple occasions. If I gave up now, I would never again have a chance to make the Rubes fear me. And they would fear me. A plan coalesced in my head, fully formed, and an uncontrollable grin spread across my face. Not only would I show up to their precious conference, uninvited, but I would take all those big important RUBE officials hostage. If they wouldn’t give me what was rightfully mine of their own free will, I would force them to do so. All I would ask for in return for their lives was a modest sum of money and a document certifying me as the world’s best supervillain.

Bea’s red scarf, peeking out from the bottom of the pile of clothes, cast a momentary shadow across my elation. I kicked it back into hiding with the toe of my shoe, forcing both the scarf and the dead weather reporter out of my head. I had an attack to plan.

~~~

Surprisingly, my minions were much less excited about my plan than I was.

I had spent the rest of the day holed up in my lair, scheming. I started by searching online for the RUBE conference that Principal Sicarius had mentioned. Once I had found where it was going to be held, at the prestigious King’s Head Hotel downtown, the rest of the day had been spent in rigging enough explosives to blow the whole hotel into outer space and coming up with a plan of attack.

The only break I had taken was a few hours spent helping out at Bea’s store to keep her suspicions at bay. Although, based on the disgusted look she had given me when I informed her that Death’s Dancer wanted to meet her gang tonight on her roof, I could have saved myself the trouble. Still, they had come, and were even now standing in front of me, all four of them frowning. At least they hadn’t tried to ambush me this time, which I would optimistically count as progress.

Before I had even finished explaining my brilliantly concocted plan, they were already casting uncomfortable looks at each other. I debated with myself on whether to call them out or not, but decided it would be better to destroy their objections openly than allow dissent to fester.

“What’s the matter, Peg?” I asked, knowing that if anyone would be willing to criticise me openly, it would be her.

“We were just wondering how practical this plan is,” she said, staunchly ignoring the glares of the others. However, not one of them spoke up to deny that what she had said was true.

“And what, pray tell, is not practical about my brilliantly concocted plan?” I asked with false cheerfulness and a smile that showed all of my teeth. Peg refused to be cowed, crossing her arms and standing her ground, even when I leaped across the room to stand nose-to-nose with her. From this distance I could clearly see the dark circles under her eyes, and frown lines etched into her forehead.

“Well, for starters, how are five of us going to get into a building that basically has an army of security guards and all these big important foreign VIPs? We hardly have enough people to capture a single room of that building, let alone all thirty floors of it!” She glared at me as though daring me to say that this was possible. “Even if we did make it inside, how are we supposed to rig the place with explosives without getting caught?”

“Have a little faith in yourselves!” I cried, trying to hide my irritation. She would pay for that later. They would all pay for that later. When the city was trembling at my feet, these five contrary minions would be sorry they had doubted me. “Six people is more than enough to hijack a conference in a thirty-storey hotel. I could do it alone with both hands tied behind my back, if necessary.”

“Then why don’t you do it alone and leave us out of it?” Peg asked. Bea, Knife, Abe, and Malik were glancing back and forth between us like startled spectators at a particularly frightening table tennis match. This would never do. Their wide eyes told me all I needed to know: they were shocked that Peg was getting away with speaking so freely, and that shock was turning wheels in their brains that had no right being turned. They needed to obey me fully and without question, something that could not happen if they were busy thinking for themselves, and assuming I wouldn’t punish them if they stepped out of line.

“Oh, but if I left you out I would have to kill you,” I told Peg, stepping even closer and staring into her stubborn, lined face. She didn’t back away, which was brave of her, but ultimately just foolish. All my fear and frustration bubbled up inside of me, finding a scapegoat in Peg. I hated that she was taller than me - it made it so much more difficult to act imposing. I hated her lack of fear. I hated that she had friends and a comfortable place in the world, when I had to fight for every little opportunity.

Reaching up, I grabbed Peg’s collar and yanked her down until she was below my eye level. She probably wouldn’t have come so easily, but she wasn’t expecting it, and fell off balance, almost toppling to the ground.

“Look, Mr. Wise Guy: we can do this my way, or we can do this the dead way,” I hissed, loud enough for everyone on the roof to clearly hear my words.

When Peg continued to stare defiantly back at me, making no sign that she had understood, I threw her to the floor. This time she was ready and tried to resist me, but I made the concrete buckle beneath her feet, sending her toppling to the ground as easily as a felled sapling. I reached out to every thread in her clothing and encouraged it to weave itself together. The threads of cotton in her shirt cheerfully intermingled, pinning her sleeves to her body. The stiff fabric of her jeans was less willing to acquiesce, but eventually the molecules bonded, trapping her legs together.

I grinned down at her, my fury subsiding as I viewed my handiwork. Not only was she unable to do anything now, but that had been a pretty good showcase of my powers for my doubting minions.

She glared at me and opened her mouth to speak, but I mentally encouraged the fabric of her shirt to crawl up and covered her mouth, sending it creeping down her throat. She coughed on the cotton gag, continuing to glare daggers at me, but was unable to say anything in protest.

“What was that Ms. Peg?” I asked, cupping my hand mockingly to my ear. Now that the threat was safely tied up and ready for disposal I allowed my customary insane, perky demeanour to slide back into place. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Why are we even attacking this meeting anyway? What’s in it for us?” That question came from Bea. There was a note of desperation in her voice and I scowled, well aware that she was only asking to distract me from Peg.

“What’s in it for us?” I repeated, whipping around to glare at Bea. “You have heard of the Researchers United organization, haven’t you? Tiny little group, runs most of the planet.”

“Yes, but...”

“Well they’re probably the most powerful organization in the world right now! If we can blow up their meeting it proves that we can get to anyone. No one will dream of stopping us after that.” I finished my little speech with a pirouette, arms raised to the sky as though reaching for my lofty goals.

I landed in a tidy fifth position, grinning expectantly at my minions. There was a muffled cough from the direction of my feet, and I frowned down at Peg. With a dramatic flick of my fingers, I cleared her airway of fabric. "Well? Are you ready to be a good girl and keep your mouth shut?"

Peg sputtered, coughing raggedly. I waited impatiently, one foot tapping the ground, although my ballet slipper made hardly any noise.

At last, Peg stopped coughing and looked up at me. The fire in her eyes sent a shiver racing down my spine and I had to clench my muscles to keep from taking a step backwards.

"No, I will not keep my mouth shut," she said, her voice ringing loudly and clearly across the roof. "You bring nothing but danger and destruction everywhere you go, and I want no part of it. We went along with you because we were afraid, but it seems to me that we should be even more afraid of following your orders. Knife was almost shot during that bank robbery stunt you made us pull, and if Bea had been standing two steps further forward she would have fallen to her death in that hole you blasted."

I stared at her, rage and fear playing tug-of-war inside of me. Part of me was horrified - Bea had almost died because of me - but the other, larger part was furious. How dare one of my minions contradict me? I cast my mind back to the classes we had taken on recruiting and using minions back at the Academy. The only way they had suggested dealing with a troublesome minion was using death threats. But what if those failed you, as they had me? Our teachers had never considered that possibility. For an insane moment I wanted to just kick Peg and tell her to stick to the script. Except apparently she had been given a different script than the one I was reading off.

Peg, sensing my uncertainty, pressed onward. "You even murdered someone today, and here you stand just the same as always, not even bothered by the fact that a man is dead because of you!"

"Don't you dare talk about that." My voice sounded strange even to my own ears - an ice-cold hiss, like a snake about to strike. Hadn't I spent all night tossing and turning, watching that weatherman's bloated dead face float across the insides of my eyeballs? And now Peg came along and reduced me to an emotionless murderer. That was rich, coming from a small-time criminal with shaky morals. She might never have killed anyone, but that didn't mean she was fit to pass judgment on me.

My hands clenched into fists involuntarily, and the fibers of Peg's t-shirt, ever eager to obey, crawled once more into her mouth and nose. She continued to stare at me defiantly, until the lack of oxygen made her start frantically struggling against her bonds. For all her struggles, his clothes remained tightly woven together, binding his arms and legs in place.

I watched in fascinated horror as Peg's struggles against her treacherous clothes grew weaker. Why was no one helping her? Why were we all just standing here watching her die? While logically I knew that I was the one killing her, there was something so impersonal about the whole situation that I couldn't take responsibility. I glanced at my other three minions, and was startled to see Bea being held in a death grip by Abe and Knife, while Malik had fallen on his knees to the floor. Tears were running down Bea’s face, and she fought against her friends to get to Peg, but they were both bigger and stronger.

For a few moments I watched them in confusion, wondering why they were preventing Bea from helping Peg. That was when I realized that it was because of me. They thought that if Bea went to Peg's side I would probably kill her too.

All of this I noted in a detached manner, as though I were floating somewhere above my body, watching everything, but powerless to do anything. I turned my attention back to Peg and we all watched as her struggles grew weaker. Silence ruled over all of us. Even the noises of the city faded into the background, as though cowed by what had just happened on this rooftop.

The stillness was broken not by myself, or my minions, but by a fireball that roared over the side of the building and flew past my arm to crash into the raised wall behind me.

After a split second of shock, a sharp pain burst to life in my right arm. I looked down to find a charred black hole in what had been my pristine red glove. My initial reaction was of disgust. Now I would need another pair of gloves. Didn’t that superpowered idiot know how expensive these things were? My annoyance was quickly overruled by the throbbing pain that spread up and down my arm, radiating out from where the fireball had struck.

A thump that shook the roof announced the arrival of Fireball. I looked up to find him standing between my minions and myself, hands planted on his hips, his right hand still glowing with heat from the fireball he had thrown.

I scowled at his muscular silhouette, automatically reaching out with my mind to the ground beneath his feet, encouraging it to ooze up Fireball’s legs, trapping him where he stood. The ground shifted, making him stagger, but otherwise remained stubbornly flat. My heart stopped for a moment as I stared at the unmoving concrete of the roof. It was probably just the combination of pain and surprise at Fireball’s appearance – my mind wasn’t focused enough to use my superpowers. I shied away from the other possibility, that my powers had somehow stopped working in the few minutes since I had almost killed Peg.

There was no more time to contemplate this however, as Fireball tossed another flaming missile my way. My training from the Academy kicked in, and I threw myself to the left, rolling on the rooftop and bouncing to my feet again. Of course, at the Academy we had never practiced that move while injured and wearing a stiff tutu. What was supposed to be a graceful move ended with me staggering to my feet, right arm held stiffly at my side.

Fireball was already facing me, both hands glowing now. “Surrender now, and I promise not to kill you!” He shouted, his voice unnecessarily loud given that there was only about ten feet between the two of us.

I ignored him, focusing instead on controlling the molecules of the roof. Every time I almost had them under my control, my arm throbbed painfully, breaking my concentration.

“Help! Fireball!”

This time it was a shout from behind Fireball that broke my concentration, and I muttered a curse under my breath. Without sparing a glance for me, Fireball darted towards the voice, moving surprisingly quickly for such a large man. I squinted into the darkness, where Fireball appeared to be crouched next to a writhing shadow. No – not a shadow, but someone dressed in all black. It was Sera, once more dressed as Coal, and she was struggling with her cloak, which seemed determined to suffocate her.

Upon closer inspection, I had the distinct impression that while Fireball was attempting to untangle Sera’s cloak, she was doing everything in her power to remain trapped inside its folds. As Fireball moved behind Sera to try and drag the troublesome cloak off her shoulders, she caught my eye and jerked her head to the side, mouthing something. I frowned, and she jerked her head again, harder. This time I thought I could make out what she was mouthing - it looked like she was saying “run”.

I glanced around for my minions, but they had disappeared, and they’d taken Peg with them. Something reached into my chest and squeezed my heart, making it difficult to breathe.

I didn’t know what sort of game Sera was playing, but she had given me this opportunity to get away, and with the way my superpowers were misbehaving I couldn’t afford to pass it up. I jumped onto the edge of the roof. A fire escape snaked its way up the side of the neighbouring building just a few feet away, and I dropped onto that. The resulting clang echoed off the walls, and I froze, clinging to the cold metal railings, listening for any sounds of pursuit.

“Where’d she go?” Fireball’s distinctive bellow sliced through the night air.

“I saw her jump onto that building and take off running,” Sera said.

Confused, I remained perfectly still as two pairs of footsteps pounded across the roof, heading away from where I crouched. Was this some kind of trick, and they were preparing to double back and catch me as soon as I let my guard down? If that was the case, I had better start moving.

I descended the fire escape on shaky legs, holding my injured arm against my side. Once I had reached the ground between the two buildings I started drifting towards my secret lair. I knew I should be worried about people seeing me wandering the streets dressed as a supervillain, but my mind was too wrapped up in other things to give that much thought. Luck must have been on my side though, because no one noticed me in the dark streets.