Today selection was an aromatic cheese. Some thick slices of double-smoked chicken, and fresh bread from the local bakery. I doubled down on some fresh tomatoes and a new head of lettuce.

Tonight’s sandwich was going to be the stuff of legends.

I hummed a tune. Pop goes my heart. A song that would have definitely made it in the 80s.

The brisk air told me that fall was definitely ending. The winter chill was just starting out, and I already regret not choosing a warmer climate as my Homebase.

No. Instead I had to choose New York. The international port of intrigue, cultural melting pot, and highest hero/villain ration in the world.

Though I couldn’t deny that business was still excellent. I had a hypothesis that there was a heroic arms race going on. Ever since Dr. Ostmotto took down his arch-nemesis using underhanded tricks.

Read as new gadgets. And that changed the landscape.

No hero or villain sneered at potential life-saving tech nowadays.

Thus I was quite surprised to find the Rottweiler waiting for me when I got home. The man was quietly sitting in my reading chair, leafing through my newest copy of Hench Weekly.

Which irritated me since I had only gotten it this morning. Damn morning commute to finish the contract to the local police force.

I didn’t call out to the man. The fact that he bypassed my personal security was frustrating, but the fact that he didn’t act yet meant that he wanted to talk.

To be fair, Rottweiler must have also understood that I wasn’t a pushover either.

My tech was, fundamentally, superior to his stuff. Though he was more robust, it didn’t change the fact that I was on a level higher.

I walked to the kitchen and set my grocery onto the counter. I began to set out my ingredients and arranged them in order of use.

“Frank, would you like something to drink?” I offered as I took off my coat and moved back to the front door to hang it up in the closet.

“You know why I am here,” Frank gritted out and his hand shook.

I frowned. He was wrinkling my magazine something fierce.

“As a matter of act, I do not,” I said and noted that he still had his shoes on. I took a quick run around with my eyes to see if he tracked anything in.

I was reminded again that I needed to really upgrade the handheld, Dyson. The base tech was there, but I was also so busy.

Maybe I should have taken that Japanese contract and built that automated maid…

“You sold tech to the Black Baboon,” Frank growled out as he put down the magazine.

I was too confused to be pleased that my magazine would in fact see the light of another day.

“So you are saying that I sold technology… my technology to that hack of a geneticist Carlos Moray?” I summarized as I made my way back to the kitchen.

I seriously needed a drink.

I pulled out two nicely refrigerated colas. Imported from Mexico. I walked to the side of the fridge and popped off the caps and then made my way over to Frank.

His hood was still on, granting him that menacing visage as the Rottweiler. Half Anabus, Half Dog, Half human.

I placed the cola in front of him and took a swing of mine. The sweet rush of sugar hit my tongue and I sighed as I leaned back on the couch. A couch that also doubled a bed, a loveseat, and a mini-battle mech that had machineguns mounted into the armrests.

“I did not sell any tech to the Black Baboon,” I finally replied as I tried to understand what Frank was talking about.

I was no hero. I sold tech to both sides. The difference was that I only sold low-grade weapons and high-grade defenses. A nice little compromise that helped secure the future of heroes and villains.

The toys I sold were mostly fixed knockoffs that I randomly encountered in the business. So many engineers, but so few actually combined functionality with style.

Rottweiler was a prime example.

He was a man who lost his family to the local villain that had mass-produced shit quality robots. Their simple AI couldn’t tell apart heroes from regular people since the idiot designer only told the AI that heroes wore costumes.

Well, turns out clothes were costumes since humans were born naked. You dressed for fun. You dressed for work. You dressed to do stuff. Clothes were a costume.

So the robots shot up the mall.

A week later, the Rottweiler was born. A very lethal hero that stalked the back alleys of New York and ensured that any evil engineer met with grisly fates.

His tech was bulky, well designed, and definitely worked. If ugly to look at. Mine was more delicate, and for business purposes, more breakable.

I could have definitely simplified the designs and his gauntlet mounted Tesla Gun was my gift to him after he had stopped someone from stealing my cargo. Bodysuits for the police. My previous contract with the city.

It replaced his original piece that had a small habit of a 20% chance of breaking down with each shot. The man over complicated the energy loop and feedback circuitry which meant that it ironically had a higher chance of imploding.

Frank didn’t say anything and simply pulled out a small gun and laid it on my table. I stared at the weapon. The handle was intact and the weapon itself was ruffed up, but pristine.

I recognized the weapon of course. It was a micro version of Frank’s Tesla Gun. Far less voltage potential. It was designed to be an effective Taser that I licensed to the city years ago.

I was eventually outdone by someone else in the cost department, but the statistics showed that there was a 1.6% bump in electrocution of targets and a full 6% chance of weapon malfunction.

“How curious. This specific case was among the prototypes I sent to the city. For proof of concept,” I muttered and mumbled as I carefully turned the weapon around.

It was heaver then I remembered. Which probably meant that there were different internals. Someone had probably jacked up the power and range on this thing.

“So it is yours,” Frank said as he glared at me.

I gave him a deadpan look.

“Was. I gave it to the police for the Taser competition. I won with a decent design but politically lost a few years later when Lex Corpse copied it with cheaper parts,” I hummed as I itched to take the weapon apart.

What did they change? What did they improve on?

My eyes glinted and Frank sighed as he watched me.

“Let me know what you find,” Frank growled out as he made his way out the front door. He had a city to patrol.

I grunted in reply as I made my way down to the basement where my fantastic lab existed. I did also grab the extra cola as I passed by.

I chose this part of the city because of its impressive bedrock. I had drilled into the earth for one of the most secure secret labs in the world.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t remember my sandwich until almost sunrise the next day.