All’s Fair in Love, Villainy, and Chloroform Ep1

Elizabeth 1:57 AM

“Ah yeah, baby. Yeah. Flex those thighs. Yeah yeah, that’s it. Run for daddy. Let daddy see how they jiggle. Ooooo yeah.”

It was another late night in the Cathedral of Pain. Normally a place of misery, treachery, and deceit, a place where all hope is abandoned and vile wickedness reigns supreme. But tonight, like the past several nights, the sounds reverberating down the halls made this citadel of all things evil sound more like a horny 15-year old’s bedroom at night with the door locked.

Inside the private chambers of the lord of this bastion of malice, the flickering glow of a big screen computer monitor was the only source of light to be found. In the shadows, his face barely illuminated by the monitor, the feared and treacherous Master Disaster sat in his oversized leather executive chair, his attention glued to the images dancing across the screen. His massive, beastly frame hunched low in his seat, his $2,000 Italian-made custom designer slacks crumpled unceremoniously down around his ankles. His monolithic engorged member squeezed tight inside a huge meaty fist. Were it not for his size, the ape-like furrowed brow and large, almost fang-like teeth clenching in wanton desire, and the sheer opulence of the gothic surroundings, one might look upon this scene and indeed think they were seeing a typical midnight porn-a-thon inside some pimple faced teenager’s room. It was an odd sight indeed to see such a powerful force of evil seemingly obsessed like a desperate schoolboy drooling over the captain of the local cheer squad, but obsessed he was. Of that there was no doubt.

And what were these images of, one might ask? None other than the latest flag waving champion of patriotism, American Glory, newest member of local super hero team The Justice Squad. Ever since she first showed her face in public with “The J-Squad” during a routine bust of some of his henchmen-in-training who were conducting a basic hit-and-run on First National Loan & Trust, she was all he could think about. He was immediately struck with an insatiable lust for this young heroine. All his free time was spent in that big leather chair, combing the internet, Googling every picture he could find, reading and re-reading every interview and news article, endlessly looping every minute of amateur video posted on YouTube. He couldn’t get enough. Maybe it was her spunky, vivacious spirit. Maybe it was her pure, virginal appearance. Or maybe it was just the red, white and blue theme of her costume (for the all-mighty Master Disaster secretly harbored a fetish for that whole patriotic princess shtick). Who knows? But one thing he did know with all certainty… he must possess American Glory.

She... would... be… HIS.

Finally, the time had come and he had had enough. Master Disaster had come to realize that too much of his attention was being diverted to chasing this unholy obsession, and he was neglecting his evil schemes and duties. It was time to make this fantasy into a reality. With his free hand he reached over and pushed an intercom button. Within seconds the voice one of his many disposable acolytes squeaked in response.

“Yes my lord. How may I serve your masterfulness this evening?”

“Which one are you?” the criminal mastermind inquired.

“Wormsley, sir,” was the reply.

“Wormsley, take this down.” Master Disaster growled into the intercom, never letting his eyes leave the frozen image of American Glory dominating his computer screen. “I want a contract issued. Release it to all of the major crime networks and classifieds. Fifty million dollars to anyone who can bring me American Glory.”

“Fif-fifty m-m-million, sir?” Wormsley stuttered back in shock at the number. “Are you sure?”

The master villain pondered for a second, then responded, “Hmmm. You’re quite right, Wormsley. That is an inappropriate figure.” The toady’s sigh of relief was almost audible through the intercom’s speaker. “Make it one hundred million dollars.” Wormsley’s gulp was unmistakably audible. “That should attract the right kind of people for the job. But I want her alive and well. Be sure to make that very clear. I’ll not pay full price for damaged merchandise.”

“Y-yes sir. Of course, sir.”

“Make sure that gets released first thing in the morning. Waste no time,” Master Disaster commanded.

“Absolutely, your worshipfulness. It shall be done,” Wormsley sniveled in compliance.

“Good man. See that it is.” With that, the villain ended the conversation. He returned his full attention to the glowing image of his desire, his fist clenching tighter around his ungodly tool.

“Soon, my sweet, very soon. I will have you for my own. I shall taste of you, I shall slake my thirst for you, and when I have had my fill, you will then cease to dominate my mind. Of course,” he sneered with a vile craving, “who knows how long that will take? You may last hours, or days, or even weeks. Maybe more. And perhaps, if you are fortunate, there might be something left of you for me to sell to the highest bidder when I am done. Heh heh heh…”

* * * *

It was a lovely, sunny day in the suburbs outside Freedom City. Looking radiant as ever, the mysterious villain, Chameleona, took the opportunity to soak in some of the sun’s glorious rays out on the balcony of her private penthouse apartment. She was a truly awe inspiring vision of psychedelic sexuality. If you were to ask most people, they would say that being born a mutant, with strangely colored skin and hair, would be something that they would consider a huge disadvantage, a source of shame even. But not Chameleona. Sure, growing up, it was hard being so different from all the other kids. But as she grew into adulthood, she grew in confidence as well, and eventually she learned to take pride in her uniqueness and the benefits it could yield. And today she simply oozed with pride and vanity at her own appearance.

The villainess laid out on a deck chair in all her colorful glory. Her soft, light purple shaded skin shown alluringly in the afternoon sun. Slick with tanning oil and dripping tantalizingly with sweat, her lavender complexion glistened like a fresh spring flower dripping with early morning dew. Her body, barely covered by a rather immodest white string bikini, was perfectly toned and proportioned; just the right combination of feminine curves and athletic strength. The result was a figure that would make any man weak with desire, and any Playboy playmate green with envy. And speaking of green, her long silken hair, a color of lustrous jade, was pulled back in a single ponytail which draped casually yet tauntingly behind her and over the back of her chair. At first glance one would say that it seemed that the day was made for Chameleona; like everything was going her way. Unfortunately, nothing could be farther from the truth.

Chameleona was in a bit of a pickle. Her funds were beginning to run dry. Typically she made her living by contracting her services out to big named villains and crime bosses, services that, thanks to her special mutant abilities, made her very popular, and usually very comfortable. You see, Chameleona was a shape-shifter. She possessed the uncanny ability to change her appearance to look and sound exactly like anybody she chose to mimic. A very handy talent indeed, and one that usually put her in high demand. But not lately. Maybe it was the faltering economy, who knows. All she knew was that the crime bosses and evil masterminds bent on world conquest hadn’t been calling her. She hadn’t gotten a paying gig in over 3 months, and thanks to her expensive tastes and rather lavish standard of living, what little cash she had saved up had quickly been depleted. Worse yet, the mob boss who owned the rather posh apartment building where she lived, Sal Tiglioni, was getting impatient with her not paying her rent. He had suggested on more than one occasion that her looks, and her unique ability, could prove to be very lucrative in his prostitution racket, and he’d be more than happy to let her use her “talents” to help pay her way and keep her penthouse. She knew by the way Sal would leer at her every time they spoke that he was just itching to have her over a barrel, in more ways than one. The mere thought of it made her purple skin crawl.

The lavender lovely sat on her deck chair, her laptop positioned in her lap, and was busying herself by scouring the crime net blogosphere, looking for any potential jobs that she could take… anything to avoid becoming Sal’s next plaything. Suddenly a listing caught her attention, and her luminescent green eyes began to twinkle as she read:

WANTED: Capture and delivery of American Glory,
newly inducted member of The Justice Squad. Subject
should be incapacitated and subdued, but otherwise
unharmed, pristine, and “unspoiled”, and in full costume.
Successful contractor to receive payment of $100,000,000.00
in cash upon delivery.
Remit to the Cathedral of Pain, c/o Master Disaster.

“Hmmm, what’s this?” she wondered to herself as she considered this particular posting on ‘Craig’s Crime List’. “Looks like Master Disaster has a first class boner for that bouncy little newbie, American Glory. Heh, can’t really say I blame him. Girl’s got an ass to die for. Firm and round and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. And those tits of hers, not too shabby. I might even call them perfect, if I didn’t already know what truly perfect breasts look like,” she mused to herself as she took a second to glance down and admire her own chest, letting her eyes momentarily follow a single bead of sweat as it slowly traced it’s way down and disappeared into her cleavage. “But come on… $100,000,000?? You’ve got to be kidding me. Maybe for Power Queen or Galactress, or even that prissy bitch Lady Justice, but not a no-name, wet behind the ears twit like American Glory. I mean, seriously, just how good a lay does he think she’ll be? Hell, for a hundred mil, I’d f@ck him, and I guarantee you I’d show him a way better time than Little Miss Flag Panties would.”

Chameleona stopped momentarily at that thought to consider the possibility of turning to a life of prostitution and the kind of money she could rake in. Then she visualized Sal’s bloated face grinning at her, and she just as quickly dismissed the idea. “Nah, I ain’t that desperate yet. Besides, if Master Disaster’s willing to drop that kind of coin for American Glory, I could take him up on his offer and keep my dignity in tact.”

She pondered the prospect for another minute or two, then her mind was made up. This job was too good to pass on. Besides, how hard could it be to tag and bag such a no-nothing little rookie like American Glory. This was the contract of a lifetime. She closed her laptop with a resounding “snap!”, then marched into her apartment to gear up for work. She had some superheroine hunting to do, and she knew she had to act quick. A price tag like this one was sure to draw the attention of lots of competitors.

* * * *

Evading the outer security of the “Enclave of Justice” was embarrassingly simple. Chameleona snickered to herself, “‘Enclave of Justice’… pffff… whatever.” Such a grand and imposing name for what in reality was nothing more than a glorified mansion with a privacy fence around the yard. Sure, it was a nice place… two stories, lots of land, nicely landscaped grounds, with their own private swimming pool and tennis courts. And that privacy fence, 8 feet of good solid brick and masonry, couldn’t have been cheap. But it certainly was no Fortress of Solitude.

After effortlessly dodging the security cameras and scaling the wall, the lovely lavender lawbreaker made her way across the estate grounds, stealthily ducking behind shrubbery and darting from tree to tree. She had donned a simple, form fitting grey jumpsuit with tactical pockets strategically placed. The front of her suit was unzipped a little lower than it probably should have been, but that’s just the way she liked it. Never let it be said that Chameleona didn’t always make a point of blending practicality with aesthetic allure. On her back she wore a small backpack, not too cumbersome and just the right size for storing some essential equipment for surveillance and property invasion.

Circling the main building, she skirted detection while scouting out the structure. After making a complete check of the perimeter, she hunkered down in a secure location out of sight and began to formulate her strategy.

“OK, looks simple enough, but looks are deceiving. Nobody knows that better than me,” she thought to herself. “And judging by the laser beam trip lines, tactile target plates, and high-end motion sensors they’ve got cleverly hidden around the outside of the house, I think it’d be safe to say that they put a lot more effort into securing the building than they did the yard. And if I miss my guess, the front door is equipped with a voice recognition/retinal eye scan combo lock system. Voice detection I can handle, but even I can’t replicate a person’s retina. That’s going to be tough. No walking in the front door on this job. Gotta to find a different way in.”

As she sat contemplating her best plan of attack, Providence extended her generosity to the shapely shape-shifter. Almost as if on queue, Chameleona heard voices approaching along the walking path to her right. Female voices. She couldn’t see who it was yet, but she could tell that they were young and lively, and there were apparently only two of them. She crouched a little lower behind her cover and waited… and almost peed herself when she saw who they were.

Around the corner and into view stepped two young heroines. One Chameleona recognized as Astro-Girl, the spunky sidekick of the big-time heroine Galactress. The second was none other than her target, American Glory. The villainess had dismissed the patriotic championette earlier as nothing more than the latest in a long line of silly little superhero wannabes, someone certainly not worthy of the obsession that Master Disaster was obviously feeling for her. But as she watched her meal ticket from her hiding place, she could now see what the big deal was. In the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, American Glory looked undeniably radiant. A young woman in full bloom of her burgeoning womanhood, she strolled with a winsome bounce that would make anyone sigh with longing for her. Her long, red hair cascaded over her shoulders with a luminescent, almost fiery glow. Her figure was the thing that wet dreams are made of. The top of her costume was a resplendent shade of blue, decorated with white stars, the long sleeves of which were met with tight red gloves that ran just above the elbows. The lower edge of her costume top extended barely below the bottom her perfect breasts, leaving all who were fortune enough to gaze upon her a tantalizing view of her toned and tanned midriff. The lower half of her costume was composed of a pair of red and white striped bikini-style panties that rode high on the sides of the hips. Her legs were long and lean, muscled perfectly, with skin that looked to be as smooth to the touch as buttered silk, and which terminated in a pair of blue knee-high boots, pointed in the front, and topped with wide white trim. As she chatted with her friend, she displayed an easy smile that made her pale blue eyes twinkle in the middle of her blue Robin-style mask. All in all, she was an absolute vision. For a second Chameleona almost felt a twinge of jealousy as she observed the heroine, until she realized that she could look just like her if she wanted to. She always did have a knack for making herself feel better about herself.

Wanting to get a better understanding of the person she would have to get close to, Chameleona reached back into her backpack and fished out a high powered microphone… “all the better to eavesdrop on you, my dear.” Plugging the ear buds into her ears, she pointed the microphone toward the strolling heroines and zoomed in on their conversation…

“… ha ha hah…” American Glory was laughing at something Astro-Girl had said. “Cindy, you are such a nut. I don’t know how you get away with some of these things.”

“Talent,” replied Astro-Girl, “Pure talent.”

The two girls laughed together.

“But I’ll tell you one thing,” American Glory continued with her side of the conversation, “I am soooo getting tired of the rest of the team treating me like I’m some kind of child. I’m a super hero, just like them. Heck, I’m as tough and strong and at least half of them, and I’m faster than most of them. I can handle the big jobs, if they’d only just give me a chance to prove it, instead of leaving me behind to ‘study’. What am I? A member of The Justice Squad, or enrolled in prep school!?”

“Please Michelle,” Astro-Girl joined in on the rant, “don’t even get me started. You think you have it tough? Try being Miss Galacta-bitch’s ‘trusty sidekick’ for a while. I’ve been part of this team longer than you have, and I’m still being put on bystander duty. ‘Go wait in the Galacta-Mobile, Astro-Girl’… ‘Go stand watch at the front door, Astro-Girl’… ‘No, sorry Astro-Girl, you can’t come this time, it’s too dangerous. Maybe next time’… gawd!! Sometimes I just want to put my boot in her crotch. Ahhhh!!”

American Glory giggled girlishly at her friend’s humorous display of frustration. “I know. One of these days, we’ll show all of them. Either that, or we’ll just quit this two-bit operation and start our own super team.”

“Damn right!” Astro-Girl responded, dog piling on her friend’s idea, “That’d show those high and mighty tight asses!”

Again the girls shared a much needed laugh. At that, they came to a fork in the walking path.

“Well,” Astro-Girl said, “I think I’m going to head to the gym and work off some of this aggravation. Hell, there’s nothing else to do around here anyway while we wait for the ‘grownups’ to get back from their latest epic adventure that we’re too young and inexperienced for. Wanna come?”

“No, you go ahead,” American Glory declined, “I think I’m just going to go to my spot in the garden, relax, and catch up on my reading, seeing as how it’s such a beautiful day and all.”

“Alrighty. I’ll catch up with you later, girlfriend,” said Astro-Girl as she started off down the left fork of the path.

“You know it,” replied American Glory as she turned toward the right fork in the path. The two beauties parted and went their separate ways.

“Score!” Chameleona thought to herself as she watched American Glory and Astro-Girl separate. She couldn’t have asked for a more valuable conversation, or for more of a perfect opportunity. In less than 2 minutes of snooping, she had found out all she needed to know. First, she learned that all of the other Justice Squad members, at least the ones that might pose a threat, were out of sight, which would give her plenty of time to take care of business. And thanks to the gist of the conversation, Chameleona had come up with the perfect set up for her approach on American Glory, and she wouldn’t even have to try to be all stealthy or forceful. And if she acted quickly, she could get this over with and be gone before dinner time. It was just too perfect.

The purple seductress was ready to put her quickly devised scheme into action. But first, she needed to provide a little change of scenery. Double checking to make sure the coast was clear, Chameleona removed her backpack, then slipped out of her jumpsuit. Though she could change the appearance of her body and even mimic the appearance of clothing, she could not make her own outfit change shape, so in order to assume someone else’s fully-dressed form, she had strip herself down to her birthday suit first. It was an inconvenience to be sure, and a bit embarrassing at times, but a necessity nonetheless. Now naked, she situated herself comfortably in a seated position, closed her eyes, and concentrated. In a couple seconds, her body was enveloped in a subtle light blue glow, and as it faded, instead of Chameleona in all her lavender loveliness, there sat the spunky and delightfully curvaceous Astro-Girl, or at least a perfect copy of her. Her transformation complete, the shape-shifter opened her eyes and looked down to inspect her handy work. Everything was as it should be, from Astro-Girl’s silver costume (resembling a sexy college cheerleader uniform, complete with tight, body hugging top and frilly, sassy little pleated skirt), to her black gauntleted gloves and black boots, both with gold trim, right down to her perky bosoms and taut little ass. Even the black silhouetted emblem of a ringed planet was emblazoned perfectly across her chest. Reaching up to adjust her chestnut brown ponytail, she cleared her throat and tried out her new voice. “Hi Michelle, it’s me, Cindy. Hi Michelle. Hey there, girlfriend.” She repeated it a couple more times until she felt that she had Astro-Girl’s pitch and rhythm down just right. Her new identity in place and perfect, Chameleona reached into her backpack and pulled out a pair of the most trusted tools of the trade… a small, folded white cloth, and a brown bottle labeled ominously with the dreaded “C” word. Chloroform. Thus armed and ready for work, the disguised villainess steadied her mind, took a deep breath, then sprung like a cat from her hiding place and went off in pursuit of her prey.

It wasn’t long before she found her. As Chameleona turned a corner in the garden, there sat American Glory. She had taken up residence on a charming little bench boxed in oh-so discretely behind a row of high, thick shrubbery. “Damn, she’s making this waaaay too easy,” she thought to herself, “It’s almost as if she’s begging to get kidnapped. Very well, allow me to oblige her,” the undercover villain snickered to herself and leapt into action.

Stepping around the corner, she approached American Glory warmly as if they were old friends, keeping the bottle and cloth hidden behind her back. “Hey Michelle. How’s the book coming?”

American Glory was noticeably surprised to see her, but not the least bit displeased. “Cindy? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the gym?”

“I was, um, I mean I did,” Chameleona fabricated her story, “I was in the locker room getting ready to change clothes, when I noticed Power Queen’s locker was slightly open. Well, I got nosey, and I took a peak inside.”

“Oookay,” responded American Glory with obvious trepidation, “You know you could get into a lot of trouble for that.”

“Yeah I know,” Chameleona said, “but, you know, I just admire her so much, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Admire her?” American Glory seemed surprised at this revelation, “I thought you couldn’t stand Power Queen? You said you thought she was conceited and bossy?”

Chameleona quickly covered her tracks. “Yeah, I did. And she is. But she still could be really cool, you know, if she weren’t such a bitch all the time.”

“Whatever,” American Glory replied and turned back to reading her book.

Not wanting to lose her target’s interest, Chameleona continued, “But you’ll never guess what I found in there.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” American Glory seemed unsure of her friend.

Dramatically, Chameleona pulled her hand from behind her back, “Dum dum duuuuuh.” She held the bottle out for the heroine to see. American Glory at first glanced politely from her book, and as soon as it registered with her what her friend was showing her, she immediately became more interested.

“Is… is that what I think it is?” the redhead quizzically asked, as her voice dropped in volume and a sense of awe and wonder fell over her.

“Yep. This is it. The big bad. Chloroform,” Chameleona, sensing her companion’s reaction, a reaction that seemed all at once fearful and full of wonder, took the queue and played into it.

The two sat and stared at the smoky brown bottle for several minutes, not really saying anything, just taking in the moment. Finally, American Glory broke the silence. Her voice was hushed, almost reverent. “So… that’s what it looks like. I’ve never seen any chloroform before, you know, up close. But I’ve heard so many stories. The other heroines, they always talk about it… I overhear them sometimes… about how the villains and bad guys are always pulling it out and using it on them. About how it seems to wipe them out. And of course, whenever they realize I’m there, they quickly shut up and change the subject. Like they’re afraid to let me find out about it.”

“I know, right,” Chameleona egged her on, “I always thought that ‘chloroform’ was some great, evil secret weapon, something that’d make me pee my pants if I ever saw it. But then I found this, and I was like ‘Really? This is it? This is what they’re all afraid of?’”

“And you said it was in Power Queen’s locker? Why on earth would she have something like this in her locker?” American Glory inquired, her eyes never leaving the smooth contoured surface of the bottle. It was almost as if she was mesmerized by it.

“I don’t know,” the villainess replied, enjoying the charade, “maybe she found the bottle lying around somewhere and tried to hide it. Hide it from us.”

“But why?” the shapely redhead took the bait.

“Why?” You know why,” Chameleona reeled her in, “Because we aren’t strong enough. We aren’t old enough or experienced enough. We’re too little and weak. They don’t think we’re big enough to handle it.”

American Glory smarted at the proposed assumption, and Chameleona could see the anger flicker behind her target’s eyes. She knew she had her right where she wanted her. Her ruse was working like a charm.

“You know what I think?” she continued, “I think they’re afraid. Afraid to admit that we’re just as strong as them. Afraid to give us the chance to prove that we are. That’s why they always leave us behind like this. That’s why she hid it.”

“You’re right.” American Glory gritted her teeth at the injustice of it all. “Damn them. How dare they… they…” Hook. Line. Sinker.

“You know what?” Chameleona moved in to close the deal, “I think we should prove them wrong. I think we should try some of this stuff and prove we’re big enough to handle it. That’ll show those high-handed bitches.”

Trepidation suddenly began to replace American Glory’s demeanor, and she seemed to shy away from the bottle at the suggestion. “I don’t know, Cindy… maybe we shouldn’t mess with that stuff. What if it… hurts us… or something?”

“Oh come one, don’t be such a baby,” Chameleona chided. “How bad can it be? The other heroines talk like they’ve had this stuff used on them several times, and they’re still alive and kicking. Unless you’re trying to say that you’re not as strong as they are…”

That did the trick. That little verbal slap seemed to renew American Glory’s resolve. “No, no… I’m not saying that. I am as strong as them. I know I’m strong enough.”

“Cool, then let’s do this.” Chameleona waved the bottle temptingly in front of her. “Let’s put this stuff to the test.” American Glory looked as if she remained hesitant. The villainess continued to prod. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, we’re all alone here, no one will know.”

“Well….” the heroine continued in her sheepishness.

“OK, look, I’ll go first and prove it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

With that, Chameleona had set her trap. All she had to do now was convince American Glory that the chloroform was no big deal, and boom, she’d have her.

“How… how do we… you know… do it?” The redhead seemed emboldened again, and her curiosity was overwhelming her cautiousness.

“Well, if I understand it right, all we need is one of these.” Chameleona pulled out the white cloth. “We just pour some of the chloroform onto the cloth, hold it up to our nose and mouth, then just breath it in. Kinda like huffing paint or something.”

“That’s all?” American Glory’s excitement was getting harder to contain. “That sounds easy enough.”

“Sure it is. Watch.” The shape-shifter opened the bottle, set the cap aside, cupped the cloth in her free hand, then turned the bottle into the cloth. American Glory was almost literally on the edge of her seat as she watched. Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t watching carefully enough. If she had been, she might have noticed Chameleona use a little slight of hand and secretly move her thumb into position over the mouth of the bottle, stopping it up and preventing the noxious liquid from soaking the rag. The villain pretended to let the bottle soak the cloth for several seconds, then turned it upright again, moving her thumb back away from the opening. All of the trickery went unnoticed by the heroine.

Chameleona recapped the bottle, set it aside, then continued with her act. “OK, here goes…” Slowly, she raised the cloth to her own face, locking eyes with American Glory as she did. Making sure to demonstrate the proper technique to the heroine, she placed the cloth firmly over the lower half of her face, completely covering her nose and mouth. Then she started to breathe. She made sure to take good, long, deep breaths, letting American Glory hear her inhaling. Not only did she want to convince the redhead that she wasn’t holding her breath, but she also wanted to make sure the heroine knew exactly how she was supposed to do it when her turn came.

- - -

Unbeknownst to the sly shape-shifter or her unassuming victim, they were in fact not alone in the Enclave gardens that afternoon. From behind the hedgerow of shrubbery a short, squat, but broad and stout shadow lurked and watched. It was Wormsley, oft-abused toady to the great and powerful Master Disaster himself. Wormsley had grown tired of being a lower level acolyte at the Cathedral of Pain. He wanted to move up in the organization. And when he had received the call from the Master to issue the contract on American Glory, he decided it was an opportunity too good to pass up. He figured that if he succeeded in capturing the young heroine and delivered her to the Master personally, then the Master would have to recognize his potential and give him his long overdue promotion to full-fledged henchman status. Or heck, if nothing else, with a cool hundred million in his pockets, maybe he would just quit the Cathedral and go into business for himself. Either way, it had to be better than his current lot in life.

As he watched from the shadows, he could not believe his luck. He had found American Glory out in the open, ripe for the picking, and on a day when it seemed like every other superhero worth their salt was off doing something else. There was one complication, though. She was not alone. Before he could act, another young heroine had walked up and joined her. He wasn’t exactly sure who she was, but he thought her silver, space-agey costume looked somewhat familiar. In any case, he was sure she wasn’t a heavy hitter. But still, she presented a problem. He was confident that he could handle American Glory by herself if he could only get the drop on her, but two heroines, even young ones, might be too much for him.

But then, as he watched, his mouth began to drop. Could it be? Yes, the new heroine had what looked like a bottle of chloroform and a cloth. Not only that, but it looked like the silly little twit was actually going to use it on herself. What a truly lucky and fortunate day. He wouldn’t have to figure out how to deal with her at all; she was going to take herself out of the equation for him. The henchman wannabe hunched down in his spot and continued to observe the strange but fortuitous goings-on with baited breath.

Credit to: ChloroNut

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