Disclaimer: If anything sounds familiar, I probably don't own it.

A/N: This is a little something I wrote for my Creative Writing Class. The teacher told us to create a Superhero/Superhero/Super villain, who has been retired for some time. We were supposed to explore why he/she had retired, what his/her powers are, and why he/she was coming out of retirement. I decided to build mine off of our beloved Erik. This isn't meant to be good. It was just supposed to be a fun activity I turned into fanfiction.

The Music Man

My last adventure before the retirement was very close to my heart. It endangered a good friend of mine, and a fellow artist. It all started on warm day in early June.

My two sidekicks, the Persian Bandit and the Soprano, and I had been hanging out in my underground lair beneath the Met in New York. We were just listening to some delightful Chopin when the alarm went off. It was the Phantom of the Opera theme music (my theme music), and it could mean only one thing: there was trouble afoot.

The screen showed the problem at once. The world's best organ-maker, Gunnar Lichtenstein, had gone missing. This was terrible news, indeed. He had been my favorite supplier. I couldn't possibly have fought the Tone-Deaf Kid without an organ at my fingertips. Everyone in the world would have become as untalented as he was if his mischief went unchecked. There was little doubt in my mind that my arch nemesis was responsible for this dastardly crime.

We immediately set out for Berlin to investigate Gunnar's shop. I was the only one fluent in German (I am fluent in all European languages – it is one of my many powers), so I got all the details myself. Apparently, Gunnar had last been seen in his shop at 11 o'clock the night before his disappearance. His assistant had left him at that time while he was still working on a strange-looking organ that no one else was allowed to touch. She had returned the next morning to find the shop ransacked and Gunnar gone. She had called his home and all his favorite bars, but Gunnar was nowhere to be found. The strange organ was also missing.

I realized right away that the organ had been meant for me. I had ordered an organ with several specifications the week before. It was to have a jet propulsion system, allowing me to take it with me on battles, and the ability to control the sound waves around it. This would make any sound beautiful or ugly at my will. Not only was my most trusted organ-maker in the hands of the Tone-Deaf Kid, but so was the organ that had the ability to save him.

Luckily, I always had Gunnar to install a tracking device in my organs in case of such an emergency. The frequency would be transmitted to the computer in my lair once I activated the signal. We quickly flew back to the lair and took advantage of my foresight. Apparently, the organ was being held in New Jersey. It was a good bet that the Tone-Deaf Kid and his unfortunate hostage would be with it.

The moment was tense when we landed our stealth jet in Trenton, and began tracing the signal to a location in the city. We discovered soon after that the organ was hidden in the basement of a barbershop. "How fitting," I said wryly to my two companions.

"You betcha, Music Man," The Soprano added.

As soon as we entered the unlocked barbershop, we heard the agonized screams of Gunnar Lichtenstein. We followed the sound to the basement. Every now and then as we crept down the stairs, we heard them become distorted. The Tone-Deaf Kid was obviously experimenting with my organ. Finally his high-pitched screams joined his victim's.

"Why won't this blasted thing work," he yelled, banging on the keys of the organ. Gunnar's screams turned into the yaps of a tiny Yorkshire terrier. "Shut up, shut up, you twit!"

A quick sweep of the room told me that Gunnar was tied to a chair. He was wriggling in his bonds, but the Tone-Deaf Kid was better at tying knots than he was at singing. The ropes were far too firm for the slightly overweight, balding man.

"Leave him be," I shouted, leaping into the basement, followed by my sidekicks. My arch nemesis swore under his breath, and turned to face me.

"I knew you'd come for him, but I didn't think it would be so quickly," he declared. "However, that matters not, for I shall defeat you once and for all."

Before I had time to react, he had pulled a laser gun out of his belt, and pointed it at me, the Persian Bandit, and the Soprano. We all ducked, but it grazed The Persian Bandit's leg. I recognized the gun. It was his Tone-Killing machine. When someone was hit with it, he or she would immediately lose the ability to make music of any kind. The Persian Bandit wasn't really much good at singing anyway, so I knew there was no hope for his musical skills for a while, but I knew he would prove useful still.

I pulled out my Vibration Violin, and played a few notes. The vibrations from the instrument spilled into his ears and, though he couldn't hear the sounds, they caused and explosion of pain in his head.

The Soprano, in The Tone-Deaf Kid's moment of distraction, belted a high note that only dogs could hear, which added to the explosion inside his head. She sustained that note until The Tone-Deaf Kid fell to his knees. Meanwhile, The Persian Bandit had found a large paperweight, and swiftly knocked the Kid out with it. I rushed to untie Gunnar. In our haste to ascertain that he was fine, and his overflow of gratitude, we didn't notice that the Tone-Deaf Kid had regained consciousness.

"You may have defeated me this time," he suddenly shrieked, as we whirled around to see the secret passageway he had uncovered in the wall behind him, "but the next time we meet, one of us will die, and I have no intention of refusing you that honor."

With those parting words, he jumped into the passageway, and slammed it shut before we could stop him. We frantically pulled and pushed on the door, putting all of our combined weight on it as we fought to get it open, but it was too late. He was gone.

Once Gunnar was safely returned to his shop in Berlin, I decided it was time to hang up the black, spandex suit, velvet cloak, and black mask. I had realized how dangerous it was for my friends. If a little old man who made my organs could be in mortal danger, I hesitated to think of what could happen to my two sidekicks. The Persian Bandit, who was known as both the Persian and Nadir around the city, had been discovered, it would be my fault, and if The Soprano, who was, in fact, a leading soprano at the Met, be known for who she was, her blood would be on my hands.

I didn't hear more of the Tone-Deaf Kid. All I knew about him was that he had once had dreams of entering a boy band, but his dreams had been crushed when Simon Cowell had called him a screeching rodent in his American Idol audition. His orange and yellow leisure suit had apparently been put away forever when I retired. I was wrong.

Not long ago, The Soprano, who was known in public as Melody Dixon, woke up one day and discovered that she could no longer sing on key. She went to see a doctor, several specialists, a psychiatrist, and a fortune-teller, but no one could give her a satisfactory answer. She came to me in the old lair.

"Erik," she begged, "you must help me. I could be ruined by this. My career depends on me singing Mimi in La Boheme in one week. If I don't, I'll never work at the Met again."

"I'll help you bring your voice back to par," I assured her. "Leave it to me."

"Oh, Erik, thank you," she whispered, throwing her arms around me in relief. "I don't know what I would do without you."

I was little awkward with this, but it was not unpleasant. I merely shrugged her off, and led her to my organ. We rehearsed for hours before we made any progress. From then on, it was shaping up like a charm. I was sure her voice would be back to normal in a few days with my coaching.

She left my lair happy, but she returned the next day with tears in her lovely blue eyes. "I've lost it again," she confided, weeping into a handkerchief. "I woke up with morning and tried to sing, but I can't. I just can't."

I knew something was very wrong. Trained operatic sopranos don't just suddenly lose the ability to sing on key. There was usually some medical reason, but her doctor had given her a clean bill of health. I began to suspect foul play. This had to unmistakable touch of my arch nemesis. The Tone-Deaf Kid was up to his old antics. There was only one thing to be done. I had to continue to practice with her everyday. On the day of her performance, we would begin rehearsing at the crack of dawn and not stop until her voice was perfect. I knew The Tone-Deaf Kid would be at her performance, and so would I.