PROLOGUE
OK, so... I'm The Mighty Monarch, yadda yadda yadda, you know the deal. My life goal is to arch Dr. Rusty Venture. Long story, don't ask.
Anyway, in order for me to arch Dr. Venture, I first have to remove everyone in line to arch him ahead of me. And these are big league supervillains I'm talking about, here, not just your garden-variety disgruntled crybaby in footie pajamas and a cloak.
But... I'M a supervillain. And one villain can't take out another villain when both are members of The Guild of Calamitous Intent. So enter... THE BLUE MORPHO!
Yeah, so, it tuns out my dad was this vigilante back in the day. As luck would have it, after moving back into my childhood home, our handyman located the hidden entrance to Pop's secret lair, the Morpho Cave. Complete with all the essential gear, including a car, water scooters, weaponry, you name it.
So now I've taken up the mantel accidentally bestowed upon me by Dear Old Dead Dad. The Blue Morpho. Think Green Hornet, only blue instead of green, and a butterfly instead of a hornet. And his trusty sidekick Kano. Dad's sidekick was an Asian karate master about the size of Jabba The Hutt, but more nimble.
My own Kano is my only remaining henchman, Number 21. Not quite as big as the original Kano, not quite as skilled, but he is every bit as loyal and protective of me as Kano 1.0 was of my dad.
Things have been going pretty well for us. It was hairy for awhile. But thanks to 21, I think all suspicion that The Mighty Monarch and The Blue Morpho are one and the same has been dissolved.
Because trust me, THAT would not go over well with my wife, who, oh by the way, is a member of the Council of (Eventually) Thirteen. They run The Guild of Calamitous Intent.
In fact, if it were to ever come out that I AM The Blue Morpho, it would be a guaranteed death sentence. For a supervillain to turn on his own kind is the gravest and most vile unforgivable sin a member of The Guild can commit.
I wouldn't even get a trial. Just a bullet to the brain. Maybe even administered by Dr. Mrs. My Wife.
I'm telling you, the people who write for soap operas only DREAM of this kind of shit. This is my LIFE.
So far, Kano and The Blue Morpho, collectively, have eliminated Redusa, Haranguetan, Think Tank, Wandering Spider, Warhammer and his Doom Factory, Maestrowave, The Termite, and a handful of others. Some we have killed, albeit accidentally. A couple were disposed of for us by Red Death.
Technically we should also take out Red Death. But I can't bring myself to do it, because one: he's a sweetheart, and two: he scares the holy fuck out of me. So Red Death is on the back burner for now.
Besides, the top dog on my Pyramid of Peril is Wide Whale, and we are SO not ready to take him on, yet. Now the bad side of not taking him out is that, in the absence of all the other deceased supervillains in his Family and Fiends circle, other supervillains are coming out of the woodwork to join his network.
Wide Whale's circle of supervillains is kind of like the Hydra. Cut one head off and two grow in its place. And Wide Whale is the biggest head. Until we take out that one, the others will just keep coming. Ahhh, a masked vigilante's work is never done...
THE BLUE MORPHO AND KANO MEET THE Q-RATOR
"So who are we thwarting this evening, my faithful Kano?" I slid my arms through the sleeves of my Blue Morpho jacket and tugged it up onto my shoulders. My solitary henchman, 21, was working at the Crime Computer, looking over our next target.
"OK, so check out THIS dingus," he said, punching a button and putting a picture on the big screen, "He calls himself 'The Q-Rator,' and he collects... things."
"Things?" I laughed as I straightened my green necktie and applied my mask, "That's non-descript."
I studied the image of the man on the huge screen. Very tall, even taller than me, judging by the way he towered over his violet-clad henchmen. Also just as svelte, with cold, silver-colored eyes and matching, spiky silver hair. He reminded me of a human hypodermic needle.
"Trophies, I guess you would call them," 21 continued with a shrug, "Think Norman Bates and his taxidermy hobby. He has this nasty little gallery that he maintains, where he displays his prizes." He spun around in his chair to face me.
"Get it? Curator? I know, lame." He stood up and crossed to me, and began to put on his Kano disguise.
"So what do we do?" I asked, placing my hat at the perfect, jaunty angle, "Take him out?" My henchman cringed, and looked distinctly uncomfortable, "Yeah, yeah, I know, you're not a killer."
"There's more to it than that," 21 said, fidgeting with his coat buttons, "It's not enough for Quigley Ratoré to simply arch his nemeses. He keeps the special ones as... as souvenirs."
"Quigley," I snickered, but then I froze in the middle of loading my dart gun, "Wait, souvenirs?" I asked, uncertainly. 21 shrugged again.
"Well, not all the time," he said, "Sometimes he's content with just taking your top henchman, or maybe a family member or even a cherished pet. Maybe just a body part."
"Eww," I whined.
Now dressed as Kano, my partner patted me on the back, and his expression was unusually grave. My brow furrowed. This wasn't like him.
"Look, Monarch," 21 said quietly, "This guy is bad news. He's been in trouble with the Guild for using cruel and perverse methods on his arches. I'm not sure it's a good idea to go after him."
"Bullshit!" I shook my head dismissively, "We're the fucking Blue Morpho and Kano! We've got this." I put my hand on Kano's shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. He still looked nervous.
"I'm just saying, dude," he sad, looking me straight in the eye, "When The Q-Rator chooses you as the next target, expect to lose something you treasure..."
"Yeah yeah, whatever," I interrupted impatiently, "TO THE MORPHOMOBILE!"
It took only about thirty minutes of flying over the industrial district for 21 to locate the drab, dingy warehouse that contained The Q-Rator's lair and gallery. The building was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a small, dark little two-story scab of a place, tucked away in an uninhabited scrap yard. Clearly the Q-Rator wasn't keen on visitors.
We set down on a corner of the roof, then exited the vehicle and looked around. I pointed to a door at the other end of the roof, but 21 shook his head.
"Probably wired," he whispered, "Let's find a window."
A few minutes later, we had climbed down a fire escape and through a broken window on the side of the building. We made our way silently through the darkness, following a faint light from somewhere up ahead.
As we passed through a doorway into the gallery, the first thing I saw was the woman. Or rather, what has once been a woman. Now she was a grotesque sculpture, care of Quigley Ratoré. It looked like she'd been about 25 when she died. She was well preserved, her eyes wide with terror and her mouth frozen in a silent scream. A small spotlight was directed at her face.
"Jesus fuck," 21 breathed beside me. I just nodded my head slightly in horrified agreement.
The rest of the room was filled with similar atrocities. Other humans, of all ages, other faces frozen in anguish and despair, each illuminated by a single spotlight. There were animals as well, in an adjoining room labeled 'Exotic Creatures.'
But the worst were the body parts. Every organ, limb and extremity you could name, some mounted on the walls, others on pedestals in the center of the room. Smaller ones were enclosed in shadowboxes and mounted on the various support columns here and there.
"What's the point of this?" 21 hissed hysterically at me as he examined a mutilated corpse of a cat, "What the hell is the point?!"
"I swear, it's like this guy took a couple of night classes in Taxidermy and then just went fucko bazoo," I replied with a shiver.
We wandered between the two large rooms of the gallery, keeping an eye on one another through the wide doorway. I don't think either of us wanted to be alone in that place. I looked up at the high, vaulted ceiling, wishing I was back in the Morphomobile.
When I heard 21 gasp sharply, I feared the worst. I ran across the hardwood floor and found him standing, just staring at a spot on the wall.
"What is it?" I demanded, drawing my gun as I came to his side. He pointed to a freshly-painted placard above an empty, illuminated alcove. I leaned in closer to read, and felt my stomach drop into my shoes.
'THE BLUE MORPHO'
"We need to go," 21 said, grabbing my sleeve and tugging me away from the disturbing harbinger, "We need to go RIGHT NOW, I knew this was a mistake."
"No arguments here," I managed to reply through a throat as dry as a desert.
Suddenly the gallery was flooded with light, and 21 and I both staggered slightly, holding our hands up to shield the glare. From every door, from every corner, seemingly out of the fucking walls came a horde of violet-garbed henchmen, all headed right for us.
"This was such a bad idea!" 21 wailed.
And the fight was on! I drew my gun and started firing, dropping a few of the thugs where they stood. Behind me, I heard Kano going to work on his share of the baddies, the sound of fists hitting flesh mixed with the sounds of my dart gun.
PEW! PEW!
I unloaded two more Morpho darts into the necks of my attackers, then kicked backwards and connected with the kneecap of a third. Kano had wandered off into the adjoining room, flattening costumed dickheads in a whirlwind of kicks and punches.
I couldn't help but be impressed. My man 21 had made a truly incredible transformation in the last few months. When he first came to me, he was a fat, bumbling, cowardly boob. Now he was... well, still fat... but now an agile, courageous and powerful fighting machine. I was honored to have him as my partner in crime, or in crime-fighting.
All this time with just the two of us had brought out a protective streak in my partner. An enemy need barely put his hands on me, and 21 would pound them. Case in point, the drugged-out pirate in the VenTech elevator. Not to mention that time with Redusa, when he basically proved he would take a bullet for me...
I made the mistake of letting my mind wander, and when I heard the cocking of a weapon, I was too slow to respond.
CHOOM!
As I turned, something came spinning at me from the crossbow of the henchman's weapon. Not an arrow, or a spear, but something familiar... a long cord with a spherical weight at either end.
"OOF!"
It hit me in the midsection, knocking the wind out of me and launching me a good several feet backwards. My back slammed against a support column and my gun was knocked from my grip. The two weights flanked me, trailing the length of cord behind them and wrapping around me several times like an idiot dog winding its leash around a tree.
Ahh, bolas. Kicking it old school. I was impressed, until I realized that I was now essentially tied to the column. My arms were trapped at my sides and the two weights had inter-twisted out of my reach behind me. I struggled for a moment, but I was stuck. My gun lay on the floor, out of reach. Well, fuckballs...
"Kano!" I shouted, "A little help?"
But he was occupied with a half-dozen of the Q-Rator's goons. As I watched, horrified, one of the bastards pulled shut the heavy door between the two rooms, and I lost sight of 21 just as he was buried under a pile of henchmen.
"KANO! NO!"
One of the baddies came at me, and I was able to brace myself against my bonds to lift my legs up and kick him in the face with both feet. He fell to the floor, limp. I glared around at the other henchmen, silently challenging, but they all seemed to be keeping their distance.
There was a low chuckle from somewhere behind me and it made my blood run cold.
"Well now, looks like my rare butterfly is nicely pinned, ready to be added to my collection."
The Q-Rator came into my line of sight from my right, grinning smugly at me as I glowered back at him. He stood before me, gloating at my imprisonment, trembling as if he could barely contain himself. He leaned closer and leered into my face.
"The Blue Morpho," He purred, disconcertingly, "I've been waiting a long time for this."
"How?" I replied curtly, "I've only been at this for three weeks." I subtly flexed my elbows to see if the ropes around me had loosened. They hadn't.
"How does it feel to be helpless?" He went on, ignoring my jab.
I responded by spitting in his face. He backhanded me and my head slammed back against the column with a clunk. "Oww."
"You are going to make such a pretty addition to my Exotic Creatures exhibit," he drawled, teasingly fingering my jawline, "This strong, sharp jaw. The slim, angular lines of your body. Your magnificent blue suit... "
"Please." I rolled my eyes, but my skin was absolutely crawling, "I know you're trying to be all menacing, but really you're just coming across as totally gay, QUIGLEY."
Ratoré froze, and I saw the rage come into his eyes. Uh oh. Morpho done fucked up.
With a roar, he grabbed me by the throat with one powerful hand, cutting off my taunts and most of my air.
"Your smart mouth is your undoing, insect," he snarled, his silver eyes wild, "I usually try to avoid marking up the bodies of my prizes before I display them. But for YOU, I will make an exception."
"I'm not scared of you," I rasped through my constricted trachea.
Ratoré released my throat and stepped back, motioning to one of his goons. The thug smiled a wholly unpleasant smile as he slowly walked toward me, drawing a long filleting knife out of his sleeve.
OK, nowwww I was scared. I shrank back against the column and glanced toward the door, but there was no sign of 21. Was he even still alive? Why didn't I listen to him earlier, when he suggested we were out of our league with this supervillain?
Had I lost something I treasured?
"Don't mess up his face too much, my friend," Q-Rator said, warmly slapping the knife-wielding goon on the back, "I'm looking forward to freezing that final scream of his."
Ha ha ha, no, that's not creepy AT ALL. I wrenched at the cords holding me, but I wasn't going anywhere.
"Cut it out, you'll bruise yourself," the supervillain scolded me. Then his face brightened, and he seemed to remember something, "Wait, just a moment!"
Ohhhh shit, what now?
"Before my man here shreds the flesh from your bones," The Q-Rator came to my side and reached towards me, "Let's see who you really are."
Oh, fuck it all!
"KANO!" I wailed, trying to twist away, trying to keep my mask out of reach of the supervillain's fingers, "KANO... HELP ME!"
Then a strange thing happened. The wooden door separating me from my henchman exploded, and 21 came barreling through the wreckage like an Amtrak with sideburns.
At the sight of the enraged Kano, The Q-Rator took off like a giant pussy, of course. Meanwhile, I watched my man pummel the crap out of our attackers. The one with the knife came at him, and 21 whirled like a wildcat and elbowed him in the face, dropping him in his place.
SNIKT!
He popped out that crazy, bad-ass Wolverine blade thingy from his forearm sheath. With one swipe, he slashed me free of my bonds, while cold-cocking another thug with the other elbow.
I dove to the floor and retrieved my gun, and then Kano and The Blue Morpho stood back-to back, fighting as one. He, with his fists and feet, and me with my Morpho darts.
The minutes passed, and one after the other, our enemies fell. When there were none left standing, 21 and I turned to each other, breathing hard and soaked in sweat. When we finally spoke, it was at the same time.
"That was FUCKING AWESOME!"
Then 21 was fussing, running his hands over me, looking for injuries, brushing off my jacket, and examining my cheek where The Q-Rator had struck me.
"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, his eyes full of concern as he checked me over, "I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner."
"I'm fine," I assured him, waving his fussing hands away, "No permanent damage. What about you, did you..."
Next thing I knew, 21 had grabbed me and was crushing me against his chest in a bear hug.
I was shocked. I started to tease him, but something about the desperate way he was holding me stopped my sharp tongue. So I simply wrapped my arms around him in return.
"Hey," I asked quietly, after a minute, patting him on the back, "You all right?" He squeezed me tighter, and I grunted.
"Kano," I choked out, "You're crushing The Blue Morpho!" Finally he let go of me and stepped back.
"Sorry," he said, turning away quickly. I saw him wipe his eyes. He didn't know it, but I saw.
"No, no," I chuckled, putting my hand on his shoulder, "You were amazing!"
"Nahh," he replied, bashfully, blushing under his mask as he turned back toward me. But he was smiling, now.
"Are you kidding?" I said, gesturing at the splintered door, "Smashing through that door! You were all like, HEY, KOOL-AID!"
We both doubled over from a mixture of relieved laughter and exhaustion. So unprofessional. But we had overcome probably our most dangerous adversary to date, and I was giddy with adrenaline! I looked around at Q-Rator's creepy-ass gallery, and gestured at the collection of monstrosities.
"So do we just steal all this crap?" I asked 21, "That would knock The Q-Rator down a few notches on the Guild lineup."
"Not sure," 21 replied, moving to study one of the horrific taxidermy figures, "I guess as long as we destroy his lair, it will be enough to...," He paused, sniffing the air, looking concerned. It was right about then that the smell hit me.
"Oh, dude!" I exclaimed, holding my nose, using my foot to nudge one of the many unconscious bodies around our feet, "Did one of these guys shit himself when you knocked him out?" Then I noticed the hissing sound.
"Fuck!" 21 shouted, grabbing my arm and pointing "Knock-out gas!"
I looked around and saw heavy, violet-colored smoke pouring into the room through the vents near the floor, rolling toward us like deadly storm clouds. Q-Rator hadn't given up on collecting his prize, yet.
"Jesus, even his knock-out gas is gay," I mumbled, as I ran to the nearest door. As I suspected, it was locked. Across the room I saw 21 checking the other doors.
"Damn, we're locked in!" he shouted. He came back to my side, eyes searching the room for another option.
I was holding the tail of my jacket over my mouth and nose to filter out the gas, looking around for any idea on how to escape. I glanced upward at the ceiling, and nudged 21 in the ribs.
"There!" I pointed at the solitary skylight. "Have you got your grappling gun?"
"Right!" 21 replied, drawing the tool from his belt and pointing it over his head. "Stand back!"
I stepped back a few feet and 21 fired upwards. The grappling hook destroyed the skylight and hooked onto the metal frame. A shower of broken glass came tinkling down, and he shielded his face with his forearm, his suit reinforced with Kevlar, just like mine.
"Here!" he shouted, gesturing for me to come to him, "Hold on to me!"
I ran to his side and wrapped my arms around his neck, and he engaged the mechanism to reel us up. With a zipping sound, we were whisked toward the ceiling.
"STOP THEM!"
The enraged shout came from below us. Ratoré and his remaining goons must have heard the skylight shattering, because they had returned to the gallery, and were forming a circle directly below us. They had all added small, stylish mouthpieces to their costumes. I assumed they were gas masks.
I drew my Morpho gun and began peppering the horde below us with darts, still clinging to 21 with my other arm. We were almost in the clear.
And then I ran out of darts. Fuuuuuuck. I re-holstered my gun and fumbled inside my suit jacket for the grenades I had packed. Below us, The Q-Rator's men were setting up some sort of harpoon gun, aimed at us. I had to hurry. Working one-handed was difficult, especially swinging twenty feet in the air.
"What the heck are you doing?" 21 inquired of my crazy gyrations. He let go of the grappling gun with one hand to slip his arm around my waist, holding me secure against his body.
I finally loosed one of the grenades from inside my jacket, pulled the pin with my teeth, and dropped it.
"What was that?" 21 demanded as we neared the ceiling.
"Flash grenade," I replied. We reached the broken skylight in safety, and clambered through it onto the roof.
KA-BOOM!
Everything shook with the concussion of the explosion. And then there was a rush of heat from below and surges of flames punched several new holes in the roof.
"FLASH GRENADE?" 21 yelled at me, "REALLY?"
"It WAS!" I yelled defensively, staring down through the skylight at the inferno below. Supervillain flambé. So much for The Q-Rator's gallery. And the Q-Rator. And everyone else in the room...
There was suddenly a great creaking, crunching noise, and the roof sank a few inches below us. We were both knocked to our hands and knees.
"The roof's going!" 21 cried, helping me to my feet and dragging me toward the nearby Morphomobile.
I looked back, and saw large pockets of flames appearing behind us as sections of the roof collapsed. I ran faster, the tar surface below me heaving like the surface of a stormy sea.
"Shit shit shit shit shit!"
We reached the Morphomobile, and thank you Jean Bugatti, for inventing the gull-wing door. We dove into the car and 21 started the engine as I pressed the button to engage the flight mode. The vehicle lifted off as the rest of the building dissolved beneath us.
We circled over the wreckage a few times, but saw no sign that any of the enemy had made it out alive. Another supervillain crossed off the list.
"We killed another one," 21 said ruefully, "For not being a killer, I sure am getting good at it."
"No, no, this one was all on me," I replied, reloading my gun, "But still, what kind of bozo uses flammable knock-out gas?"
"Ummm, EVERYONE?" 21 replied, looking at me like I was stupid, "Because pretty much all gas is flammable? Because science?" He made a sharp left and steered the Morphomobile toward home.
"Oh whatever," I replied, as I finished loading my gun and re-holstered it, "Look, you don't need to feel guilty about killing that fucker. He deserved it." I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes as the evening caught up to me.
We were both quiet. I was deep in thought, and 21 was focusing on flying. I rubbed my face, along my jawline where Q-Rator had caressed me. My body gave an involuntary shudder.
"Boss?" 21 inquired, glancing over at me. He reached over and laid his hand on my knee. "You good?"
I sighed, nodding, and looked over at him, and laid my hand over his.
"Hey 21?" I said softly.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"Thanks for saving my life tonight."
He looked over at me and beamed his boyish smile. I squeezed his hand warmly.
Just another day in the life of a vigilante, I guess.
THE END