Hey all! Out of curiosity, I'm gonna post a poll on my profile asking who your three favorite characters are in the fic. Won't affect anything, I'm just curious.


Remaining focused on one task had never been Izzy's forte. Due to the sphere of wackiness surrounding her, she'd managed to get by into her young-adulthood basically out of random escapades. She'd found that if she stayed in the same place for too long people got sick of her. Sad truth of reality. Spontaneous bursts of energy and some degree of insanity might be charming at first but eventually wore thin for people.

But then again, there had never been anything of such severity as the situation she found herself in now. Not even when Max had first begun his campaign. Izzy had somewhat enjoyed the chaos of it all. She hadn't exactly grasped the seriousness of the events that were transpiring until long after the fact. Suddenly, everything was a clusterfuck of agendas and politics, and Max lay right in the middle of all of it. But not as a mastermind. No, he was probably the least proactive player on the field. And in some way, Izzy knew that everyone's plans centered around him.

The redheaded psychopath (not Scarlett, the other one-never mind) sat against the wall, constantly tapping and jerking her head around. Noah was asking too much of her. The job would require subtlety, and Izzy had just recently suggested to blow up the ETOD after Max complained about a pest problem.

How the hell was she supposed to unearth a conspiracy? Noah had said to get help. But as she racked through her addled brain over and over again, all she could find was untrustworthy person after untrustworthy person. Each with their own agenda or loyalty to someone else.

"Uhhh...what are you doing on the floor?"

Izzy jumped and hissed slightly before seeing the somewhat vacant features of Evil One looking down at her. Concerned, the follower sat down next to her. "What's going on?"

"Absolutely nothing, go back to doing...whatever it is that you do." Izzy paused, tapping her finger to her chin. "What exactly do you do, anyway? All you seem to do is just follow Max around and take his paperwork."

"What?" the minion responded. "I'm offended! I do more than that, you don't even know?"

"Hmmmmnn? Then what exactly IS it that you do! Sit around and play pool? You know, you kinda strike me as a smoocher type-"

"What? Ew! Max isn't my type!"

Izzy backpedaled a bit. "Nonono, not what I meant. I meant moocher. Not smoocher."

"Oh," Evil One responded, though he still looked at her funnily. "Uhhh...I guess I kinda do like this job because I don't get to do anything. But that's not really all it is. But what exactly are you doing here? I don't see you advise him all that often, and that's supposed to be your job. You tag along just as much as I do."

Izzy scratched at herself a bit. "I, uhhhh...I..."

Evil One's face was uncharacteristically shrewd. "You've been doing something Max wouldn't approve of."

"No!" Izzy protested. "I've just been being me and shit."

The minion gave her an unimpressed look. The girl sighed. "Alright, fine...I've been looking into the conspiracy behind Max's rise to power with the help of a friend. You gonna turn me in, yes-man?"

Evil One pursed his lips for a moment. "No."

"No?"

He shrugged. "No. Now that you've let me know that, I'm gonna go ahead and let you in on a secret of my own."

Izzy tensed. Evil One slumped back against the wall, took a deep breath, and began.

"My whole life I've been kind of a follower. Just kinda wandering behind people and letting them lead me around. As an adult, I kind of was a moocher. I'd find interesting people and latch onto them for a while." He gave Izzy a significant look. "Some of these people were dangerous people. I got money protecting them and helping them. It wasn't hard."

Izzy recalled Evil One being captured and coming back a day later, no worse for wear.

The moocher continued. "Marcus and I worked together on a few assignments. Max was originally just another temporary job. Marcus got sent to jail after a robbery attempt went wrong, but I..." Evil One gulped. "I stayed. I thought he was funny. And quirky. Then the world went to shit and he came out on top. And I knew that I was stuck with him.

"So I decided to make the best of it. I knew I had no chance of being a hero. They'd gun me down." Evil One looked at the ground. "So instead I decided to record everything I could. It's actually pretty easy because he gave me all his paperwork. His kill records, transit documents, all his files...over the years of his campaign I've written everything down in an archive I created in Toronto-which I just finished updating by the way-so that if someday this all explodes...people will find my archive and be able to tell what happened."

It was silent for a few moments. Izzy whistled. "So you're like the ultimate journalist."

"If you want to look at it like that, then yeah," Evil One shrugged. "I'm not working for anyone. I've just been observing everyone for a long time. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to pretend to be an annoying, one-note moron?"

"I can imagine," Izzy stuck her tongue out at him. "Have you actually heard anything about this conspiracy?"

The scrub shrugged. "Sadly, nothing about the benefactor. Only the orders they give, nothing baout their identity."

Izzy nodded absentmindedly. "So...what if I told you..." She trailed off.

Evil One narrowed his eyes. "Told me what?"

"...that there was a way for you to actually make a difference?"

"You don't think this is actually making a difference?" Evil One scowled, folding his arms. "I had to look at his toilet seat records. Do you have any idea how..." He moved his hands around for a bit, trying to find words. "toilety that was?"

"I'm sure that all the toilet seat records will someday be the most important thing to ever happen," Izzy replied, clapping him on the back. "But I'm trying to bring down the conspiracy. And you seem pretty capable, though you don't want to come off that way."

"Not all of it is an act," Evil One admitted. "I genuinely am pretty dumb. I just know how to weaponize it."

"Well, I need someone else to help me and I think you could do it. It wouldn't be anything yet. N-My friend still has to pull a few strings so it's easier for us to get into where we need to go. We need to find some records. If you want in, awesome! If not, well, I guess someone will care about your dusty old records."

Evil One remained quiet for a few moments. Finally, he turned to Izzy and shook her hand. "Deal. But no killing, okay?"

"Gotcha," Izzy saluted, and the two rose to their feet.

"Let's go fight the Illuminati!"


"Look Moreau, I don't think keeping her around is a good idea. She's dangerous."

Moreau lounged calmly in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hands. He'd had to smuggle it in per the norm. Limited resources meant limited coffee, and unless there was enough for everyone, it was better for Moreau to have it all to himself than try to divide it among everyone in the compound. Trivial fighting distracted from the united goal of freedom. Then, everyone could have coffee.

At least, that was Moreau's somewhat flawed reasoning for why he got coffee and everyone else didn't. This same reasoning actually applied to a lot of luxuries that the businessman had in his private quarters that no one else bar Heather knew about.

Moreau took a sip before responding to Heather. "Scarlett will turn on us in a flash if it suits her purposes. I'd shoot her right now but as of right now she has no reason to betray us. Her anger is at Max. It would only be logical to work with us. As cunning as she is, she isn't a one-woman-army."

Heather sat down across from him, a cup of water in her hands. "I'm not saying she's not useful. I'm saying that you shouldn't take the risk. You know that a lot of future problems could be avoided if you sneak into her room right now and put a bullet in her brain."

"The Butcher has yet to report back," Moreau countered. "He's made it to New York, ahem, Gotham alright. If it turns out he actually succeeds in killing Max and/or Alejandro, which is unlikely, Scarlett would have been right. And then we'd have to dispose of her because we would be in power." Moreau took another sip. "She has to know this. In all likelihood she suggested this because she knew it would fail, and just wanted to test the waters of our partnership."

"You instructed the Butcher on what to do, not her," Heather sneered.

Moreau scoffed. "I told him to make it effective and brutal. But also fear-inducing, in case he survives. Max doesn't quite understand how powerful his enemies are." A grin broke out across his face, and he looked Heather right in the eye, making her shiver. "I intend to let him know exactly how powerful we are, while using the minimum amount of men for the job."

"What about the invasion?" Heather asked. "If you could just sneak men gradually into Gotham like you did with the mercenary-"

"Do you have any idea how difficult Max has made immigration?" Moreau asked. "The Butcher is in high demand because he can get everywhere legally. He's one of the few. Gotham is crazy about security, particularly after we managed to get a small team in there to relay the propaganda signal."

"Speaking of which," Heather yawned. "I do admire that you were willing to sacrifice men to get them in there. The bombing was a nice touch."

Moreau didn't respond for precisely two seconds. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said warily.

"Well? You have to make choices in war. You have to get the people on your side," Heather replied, as if it were obvious. "Oh come on, I know it was you, Darren. You don't have to lie to me. You bombed that compound."

"WHAT?" Moreau bellowed, furiously standing up and nearly spilling his coffee over himself. "I would NEVER do something like that! That's cold and underhanded! HOW DARE YOU?"

Heather smirked. "So that got a rise out of you..."

"Fuck you," Moreau growled, sitting back down. "That's something Max would do." He met her eyes again. "But don't ever suggest I'd do anything like that. GOT IT?"

The two stared at each other. Heather was the first one to break eye contact. "Yes sir," she said meekly, drumming her fingers on the desk.

Moreau smiled politely. "I'll keep an eye on Scarlett. If she tries anything, I kill her myself. Oh, and thank you for the utterly pointless conversation, my dear." He lightly lifted his hand towards the door. "Allow me to show you the exit."

Heather scowled. "Actually, there's something else. It's about Sky."

"Oh?"

"Have you let her know you want to start the riots soon yet?"

Moreau looked around and shrugged. "I thought joining a resistance would have implied that riots would eventually be a thing," he replied, almost snickering.

Heather glared. Again. Lots of glaring going on here. "You think she wouldn't like the...consequences of getting people riled up. Girl's strong, but you'd think she'd be a little less naive by now."

Moreau snorted. "I'll take care of her. I know what to say to get her to follow along. No biggie."

"Do you?" Heather asked. "Or are you just underestimating people again?"

"Ye of little faith," the businessman deadpanned. "I have contingency plans for everything." He pulled up Max's psychological profile again. "The reason I will win is because Max has spent his life hoping to live up to the ideal of a 'villain.' One who will devise elaborate death traps instead of shooting their enemy outright. One who will have incompetent men incapable of firing correctly...of making choices based on what he thinks a diabolical mastermind should do."

"Project Cleanup," Heather pointed out.

"Wouldn't surprise me if it weren't his idea," Moreau snorted. "I've seen the company he keeps. A mentally unstable psychopath, a prick with no loyalty to him, and a scrub that sucks up so that he can have a place to stay. You'd be surprised how much influence and information I have about him and his cronies, even from this distance."

"You have an informant?" Heather asked.

Moreau shrugged. "No...the person I've been getting the details from doesn't even know I exist." He smirked. "The fool created an archive of everything Max has ever done. Sadly, he seems to have been smart enough to lock most everything of importance off to people who don't have the codes." A dangerous glint entered his eye. "But I'm working on it, never fear."

Heather rose to her feet. "Good to know," she said. "Let me know if I need to help you get more weapons. I'm running low on funds, payment soon would be appreciated."

"No issue," Moreau reassured her. "It'll be fine."

Heather nodded. "See you around then."

Swiftly, she exit the room.

After Heather left, Moreau sighed, rubbing a hand to his temple. He pulled up a map of the newly labeled Gotham. Having visited New York many times in his childhood, it was still surreal to see how much of it had been rearranged completely. Streets renamed, buildings destroyed and created, and entire streets changed around just so that it seemed different from before. And to think it had actually been the most untouched by Max's rule...

Scenarios ran in the visionaries head as he entered the mind of his enemy to determine exactly what made him tick.

An invasion of the new capitol of the world would take time to plan out.

But in the end, it would be all be worth it.


Top Headlines for One Week After Project Cleanup's Instigation:

MAX INITIATES "PROJECT CLEANUP" TO ELIMINATE NUCLEAR WASTE AND HELP MUTATED CITIZENS

LOCAL GOVERNMENTS ALLOWED CONTROL OF AREA, FOOD PROVIDED FOR FOOD DRIVE

READ ALL ABOUT MAX'S CHANGE OF HEART HERE

CAKE IS THROWN AT FORMER GERMAN AMBASSADOR DURING HEARING, CULPRIT UNKNOWN


It was strange how quickly things could change when you showed kindness to people. Max had initiated Project Cleanup not intending for it to be taken very well by his men. But considering most of his men had joined to feed their families, it had been taken to with gusto. It was a small spark of hope for people to be treated for mutations and to be given more food, but such a gesture of kindness from their all-powerful manchild dictator was very appreciated.

He'd currently put the issue of Izzy's loyalty to the side. There was other work to be done.

Namely, finally sitting Alejandro down and determining whether or not he was bullshitting or telling the truth about the whole Heather deal. Somehow Max doubted that someone who'd been providing the resistance with weapons would have chatted with him so easily at the party all that time ago.

Max had insisted taking him outside to a diner-this time not inside his own compound. Matheson had been assigned to their protection. His team would make sure that the time went smoothly. Alejandro was of course shackled to his chair by his legs. The hands were untied so he could eat.

All Matheson could really see was a setup for trouble. Max had chosen to dine on a small rooftop. Super easy to kill but the bastard's arrogance knew no bounds, apparently. It was a nightmare for a bodyguard. At least it was windy and cloudy so that there was less chance that a sniper would be able to make the shot. It was a hard life, protecting a moron. A hard fucking life.

Alejandro adjusted himself at the table, clearly uncomfortable.

Max sat down across from him, making it a point to sit in the same type of seat. As equals and that kind of shit.

"So tell me this," Max said. "Why should I believe you? You're...really untrustworthy."

"Have you fact-checked?"

"I've had people go out," Max sniffed. "We haven't been able to locate Moreau but we've found records from reliable sources that Heather broke into your building and did steal a lot of money and weapons. So I might believe you, but you're going to be monitored."

Alejandro nodded. "All good. I want to make her pay for betraying me." He sighed. "Pity it had to be like this. Keep tabs on me, I probably deserve it."

"Don't pull the guilt trip bullshit," Max said, pointing his finger directly at him. "That just makes you look more suspicious. The last time we were sitting here eating Scarlett escaped from jail."

"You can't seriously be suggesting that I-" Alejandro began, sounding seriously offended.

"No, I'm just making a point," Max snapped irritably. "In fact, I came out here as opposed to staying inside to tempt fate."

Alejandro looked dumbfounded. "Um...what?"

Max looked around, gesturing at the open area around him. "What'll happen with you around? I'm curious. I've got a team lined up to take anyone out who tries anything."

Alejandro glanced back and forth, not seeing anything. "I don't see them."

"Because they're hidden, dumbass."

It was quiet for quite a few seconds as Alejandro tried to process the fact that Max of all people had just called him a dumbass. "Um...Okay?"

The rest of the meal was spent in silence and tension. Max seemed to be waiting for something, anything to happen. Alejandro on the other hand looked weirded out and ready to go back to his life as a CEO. The food was of course delicious.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time," Max told the Spaniard as they walked out the front door. "I seriously thought something would happen."

"No problem," Alejandro shrugged. "I apologize for keeping the Heather thing a secret. I can't say I apologize for my reputation, because that's me. And I know you'll never be able to fully trust me."

Max snorted as they walked down the sidewalk. "Yeah, you're right about one thing I suppose-"

A rumble, a roaring in his ears, and Max found himself being flung back against the wall, ears ringing. Woozy, he could hear screams from people around him. He saw Alejandro coughing and stirring weakly beside him. The Spaniard glanced down at his leg, which was bleeding profusely.

Max stumbled, trying to get to his feet. He pulled the pistol out of his back pocket and bemoaned that the disintegration gun was too large and clunky to be used everywhere.

Well Max. You wanted something to happen. Now what?

Max steadied himself, gun in hand as a blurry figure came at him. How'd the fucker manage to sneak explosives into the city? Unless...Max giggled, somewhat in hysterics. Obviously, he was aligned with the resistance. He'd have to beef up security again to keep that from happening again.

Assuming he lived to survive the assailant. First things first, after all.

Max staggered to the side, gun in his hand. A shot grazed his arm. But this being the second time he'd been shot, he didn't break down crying.

His vision slowly returned to normal and he could see the assassin. A skinny, pierced young man with a tall, wiry frame. Inconspicuous dark clothes and a buzz cut.

And a grin like a shark.

Records identified him as a mercenary simply titled the Butcher, known for ruthlessness and sadism. Max's mind quickly determined that he was the equivalent of Morris in terms of depth and personality.

Another couple of shots fired off, several of them again grazing his shoulder, but nothing serious. Max breathed quickly, trying to even himself out.

Where the hell was Matheson? This was his job.

Max ducked behind a piece of rubble as the mercenary kept firing away.

Max inhaled deeply.

Exhale.

Without thinking, he rose to his feet and fired off three shots.

A yell from the mercenary told him he'd actually managed to find his mark.

The gun fell to the ground as the Butcher clutched his bleeding hand in pain and looked at his similarly wounded leg. "They didn't say you could actually fight," he snarled, pulling out a knife and limping towards him menacingly.

Max fumbled to reload the gun, aware of his training with Matheson. Part of him wondered whether this was a test for him from the punk. He wouldn't honestly be too surprised. Max did need to learn how to not rely on other people as much. Hell, the only reason he'd gotten this far in life was by relying on other people. Even if this wasn't a test, Max decided that he'd take it as one.

A lunge with the knife and Max yelped, dropping the gun. Max aimed a punch at the assailant.

The punch hit, but it did absolutely nothing. The Butcher snorted in derision. "Okay, strike that. You can't fight."

A kick to the face and Max stumbled backwards, falling flat on his ass. The assassin moved like a blur, stabbing downward into Max's torso. The overlord let out a scream of pain as the Butcher quickly unsheathed the knife from its bloody, fleshy scabbard, grinning like a total loon.

Max whimpered, before noticing the gun on the ground a few feet away. He squirmed and tried to punch the psychopath again, only to get his face smashed in for his troubles. Max whimpered as he crawled away frantically.

The Butcher casually walked towards him, savoring the fear in Max's eyes. With understated glee, he lowered the blade. "Any last words? Man, you're fucking useless."

Max closed his eyes.

With a yell, he ignored the pain and kneed the assassin in the leg wound.

A startled howl from the mercenary and Max grabbed the gun.

Three more shots.

The Butcher looked down in surprise to see blood seeping from his chest. With a woozy fury, he stumbled towards Max but it was clear he was leaving the world. Max's vision began to blur again, and he fell to the ground, trying to keep the blood inside him. The merc stood over him triumphantly, knife in hand.

Only to be punched in the face by Matheson.

Groaning, Max tried to collect his thoughts and stop himself from passing out.

I think I just killed a man...I think I just killed a man...

As he faded out of consciousness, he mused that he'd killed billions already and yet had never quite put it together until now.

The last thing he saw was Matheson standing over him, calling for help.

They managed to get inside...they managed to...


you know i kind of want to know about what the hell happened with the cake-throwing incident