HENCHMAN
The Revenge of 21
[Author's note: This story takes place 3 months after the end of season 4 of the Venture Brothers TV show, titled 'Operation: Prom'. It takes place within the canon up to that point and follows my favorite character Henchman 21. If you haven't seen the show or the episode I would suggest that you do before you read this story as it has no recap of the story up to this point and the show is incredible. I am going to add in a character, somewhat, but this character works outside of canon but in an organic way. I hope that you enjoy it and I welcome all reviews and critiques.]
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or references from the Venture Brothers TV show. I use them for only the purposes of entertainment and refuse any type of payment or compensation for or in conjunction with this work. Any persons or group using this story for purposes other than personal entertainment are liable for their own actions.
In a Midwestern suburban neibourhood with small half acre houses and car lined streets, a man sat at a computer desk. One of the three flat screen monitors lit up with an alert message but he waits for his 'Warhammer' avatar to finish disemboweling his enemy before he acknowledged it. He calmly logged out, removed his multifunction headset, and hit a function key which started a program he designed specifically for this moment. Ominous music played as a keypad reveled itself; seeming to come from nowhere in the oak-paneled wall.
He stands there next to it and contemplated all that had led to this moment, and finally entered the painstakingly chosen four digit code [2124]. From yet another part of the wall a door slid silently open and a compartment came out with everything he would need on it. He took from them a yellow glove and slipped it on. He flexed his hand, listening to the familiar creaks of the material, and sighed.
"I'm ready," He thought to himself as he began to don the rest of the outfit that he designed.
"I guess the Revenge Society has been doing some recruiting." The Monarch commented to no one in particular, as he watched the black and red clad troops, no more than 6 total, tear through his minions with ease on a bee-line to his battle cocoon's command center over the monitor. He turned to his queen and whined, "I mean, where did Phantom Limb get these guys? Are they former Guild Blackguard or something?"
"I don't know; possibly?" Dr. Mrs. Monarch replied in her overly husky voice. She rested her cheek on her fist causing her breasts, already about to pop out of her deep V-neck outfit, to squeeze together and deepen her ample cleavage, "Phantom Limb was with the guild for a long time. He could have talked some of them over, and with the backing of someone like Richard Incredible, the benefits are probably worth it."
The Monarch raised his arms in outrage.
"You're not supposed to sympathize with our enemies! You're suppose to spit bile at them and make them rue the day; verbally." He spun his fingers in the air in-front of himself, "Not care about the state of their 401ᵏ."
One of the images on the many split screens around the command room showed one of his henchmen being torn open by a Revenge Society operative's knife obscuring the screen's image with the resulting blood spray.
The Monarch fell back into his throne and pouted, "Why can't I find henchmen like that?"
Several of the butterfly theme dressed henchmen looked up at him.
"You know what you are!" The Monarch scoffed at them, dismissing them with a gesture.
"You had one like that," His wife pointed out, "And let's face it since 21 quit..."
The Monarch's eyes lit up with the fires of hate, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a leer, and his freakishly long eyebrows quivered, "Don't even mention his name in my presence! That turn-coat doesn't deserve a name much less a number in the sacred halls of this battle cocoons! He shall never be forgiven for what he has done, and any who align themselves with him shall taste the deadly sting of the Monarch!"
She rolled her eyes, "Fine, Fine. But you can't deny that things have gotten kind of lax around here in the last couple of months. Even the Moppets haven't been able to whip things back into shape."
"True." The Monarch contemplated from deep in his throne. He thought of something and turned to his wife, "Where are those freaks anyway?"
"You have them out doing recon..." She started, "Uh-oh."
The Monarch once again leaned forward and gestured about the room at the henchmen at their consoles dressed in their butterfly-like outfits, "You mean to tell me that the only thing standing between us and certain death is this bunch of losers?"
"Well, more likely capture, torture, and then death, but... yeah."
The Monarch grabbed the edges of his throne, "We are so boned!"
"Mighty Monarch," one of the henchmen called from the consol, "The intruders have made their way into the outer corridor."
The Monarch grabbed his head, "Oh crap!"
A silence grew up in the room and laid down a blanket of tension that strangled and made them all sweat bullets. The rooms temperature rose quickly and noises could be heard from the other side of the main door. It would happen anytime soon. The Revenge Society would come through the door at any moment, kill all of the control staff, and then kill them or worse. The wait was unbearable but no one wanted to hasten it. Then the moment came, but it wasn't what they had expected.
One of the black and red henchmen burst through the door and crumpled to the floor. Three others lay on the ground in various forms of defeat as the last two standing battled feverishly with a third man. The combat was spectacular. The new combatant spun and dodged around the blows of the other two. If any of their attacks landed, it couldn't be seen. Blades flashed, only once, and both of the other two men fell before the mysterious third man. His massive form knelt before the control room platform; a knight in reverence to his king.
"Who the hell is that guy?" The Monarch squeaked to his queen.
Dr. Mrs. Monarch leaned forward and squinted her eyes scrutinizing the henchman before them a long time before tentatively answering, "21?"
A mummer went about the room, the number spoken in awed hushed tones. One by one the other henchmen rose to their feet and turned to their leader, the Monarch. He too rose.
"So the prodigal son has returned once again to the fold." The Monarch crossed his arms and walked to the edge of the platform so that he could stand over 21, "Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you right now."
"Besides the fact that he just saved our asses?" his wife threw in from where she sat.
"You're not helping, honey." The Monarch threw back from the corner of his mouth. He had meant to say more but he went blank as to something viscous and terrifying enough to make Henchman 21 wet his pants.
21 chose that moment to speak up with his eyes still on the ground, "Oh, mighty Monarch forgive me my trespasses. I know not anyway other than the life of a henchman. Please let me return to your service and make-up for what I have done."
The Monarch was taken aback, "Uh, okay."
21 stood up, his well toned form rippling like the tide, and immediately was surrounded by his fellow henchmen. Everyone wanted to speak with him and shake his hand. For the moment he forgot his anger and misgivings. He began to once again feel as though he truly belonged.
The Monarch spoke up again, over the henchmen, "21 go grab some wings and prep the other henchmen for our retaliation on the Revenge Society!"
21's eyes closed to slits under his goggled face, "I am wearing my wings, Monarch."
The Monarch raised his freakishly long eyebrow, "Where?"
21 stepped back from the crowd and pressed a button concealed in the palm of his left glove. From what looked like a metal backpack metal-framed high tension polymer wings folded out to their full length. They were sharp and not just in a design sense. Each of the wings' four panels came to a razor sharp point at the end.
"Wow" Dr. Mrs. Monarch commented under her breath.
The Monarch's arms fell back to his sides involuntary, "Where did you get those?"
"Designed and built them myself." 21 beamed proudly, pressing the concealed button again to show off the various elements of his new wings, "They are multifunctional battle wings. There are three settings: Fully expanded, with flight and glide capabilities, folded, which allows for better mobility while still allowing them to be used as an offensive or defensive weapon, and retracted, allowing them to be easily stored and carried. It also keeps the wearer from getting caught in doorways or tight spaces.
The design was simple, the real trick was finding a polymer thin but strong enough to take the necessary weight requirements to achieve full flight capabilities for even the largest of henchmen. This particular pair can function perfectly at up to 500lbs but can probably last out 1000lbs but I haven't had any reason to test it to that amount."
He retracted the wings for an added amount of flair and then he bowed, "By your leave, mighty Monarch."
"Go, go."
21 left and all of the control staff trailed behind him. When they were gone the Monarch crashed back into his throne; moping. He stewed in his hate for a minute then turned to his wife, "Did you see that? His costume is actually cooler than mine!"
His naturally whiney voice rose to ear splitting levels and seemed to draw two extra syllables out of the word 'mine'.
"I can't believe that he actually made those retractable wings." She replied, awestruck.
"I know, and did you see how in shape he was? If he hadn't have said anything I wouldn't have believed it." The Monarch continued in disbelief, "Zero percent body fat."
His wife sighed, "Thank God! I wasn't gonna say it but yeah he looked like a young Lou Farigno."
"The guy from the Incredible Hulk?"
"Yeah, he was the Hulk."
"Oh yeah, totally."
They sat in silence for a second, and then he snapped his head back to his wife and shrilly cried, "Wait! Were you checking him out?"
Dr. Mrs. Monarch rolled her eyes and chuffed, "See this is why I didn't want to say anything."
"What do you mean?"
"You're getting jealous."
The Monarch puffed out his chest, threw his chin in the air, and sucked in his gut, "The Monarch is never jealous!"
His wife simply rested her head on her hand and rolled her eyes, "Whatever."
Deep in the bowels of the cocoon shaped flying fortress, on the personnel level, 21 walked into his unchanged room. He ran his fingers along the desk. It wasn't even dusty. The other henchmen hadn't moved any of his things and had even cleaned it regularly in the anticipation of his return. It seemed to be the only thing that they had continued to do.
He sat down on the crisp, clean, freshly laundered sheets of the bed and leaned back against the cool metal of the bed alcove and thought to himself of all the times that he had done this after countless missions both in the old days with 24 and those that he lead himself. It was comforting to be back in these places. Despite everything else; he truly was home in some sick sense. He took one more moment to breathe in the familiar air and then shook off the nostalgia. There wasn't time for that kind of thinking. Much work was left to be done and he had been prepared these last few months for this. He couldn't let it all be unraveled by a few warm fuzzy feelings. It was time to set his plans in motion.
[Final comments: Honestly I never thought of myself as a writer, but I've found the mantle trust on to me. Till now the only opinions that I have gotten are those who are my friends and family, and, while I respect them, they are too close to me to give me a harsh opinion to help me develop my style in a way that is appealing to a wide audience.
Consequently before this idea became a story it was going to be a comic and I began to do some artwork for it which I will post to my account. I will add the link when I post them, for those who might be interested. I welcome all reviews to both the art and the story as I am working on a manuscript and this is a test of sorts.]