NOTE: Sort of a follow-up to "Abandoned". The next one won't be sad, I promise!
Trouble Lurking
decimate - Verb
To severely reduce; to destroy almost completely
His office is decimated. The city is decimated. The world is decimated.
The file cabinet containing all his important papers has been reduced to a twisted, melted pile of metal. The papers are ashes, his life's work gone. He grabs his hair, nearly totally gray now, in his hands and swears under his breath.
He still remembers the horrible instant when everything went wrong. What looked like one of those stupid children's toys that were all the rage now, only twenty times bigger, came stomping toward their office and blasted the roof away with the cannon in its arm.
The havoc only got worse from there. That was when it melted the file cabinet and lopped his computer in half. In less than thirty seconds, it had destroyed his files and his backup files. Everything was ruined.
He wishes it had been him instead. All that work, all those years spent climbing the corporate ladder, and now his company's in ruins. Well, it's not technically his company. He's only the topemployee. But he's poised for more.
His partner, Mazer, comes up behind him. "Is anything left?"
"Nothing." His voice comes out as dead as he feels. "Absolutely, positively nothing."
Mazer shakes his head and forces a half-smile. "Well, Lipsky, maybe this is a sign that it's time for you to retire."
That's a joke, and Mazer knows it. He may not be as young as he used to be, but he's a better performer than any of the young whippersnappers at the company. He's heard the water cooler gossip about himself - they're not saying he should retire, they're saying he should be the next CEO!
That was only a couple of days ago, and already it seems so far away. Right now that seems about as out of reach as the moon.
"As if," he retorts coolly. "It's a sign that some wacko decided to try and take over the world with - what were those things called again? Diabolicals?"
"Diablos," Mazer answers, adjusting the rabbit ears on the TV that's been brought in. Everyone's had their eye on the news ever since that fateful night, to see what would become of the infamous Dr. Drakken, perpetrator of the attack, known supervillain. Funny, he's never even heard of the nutjob before now.
Diablo. Spanish for "devil". He glares at his ruined computer and feels the hatred in him rise, like a volcano about to erupt. "Appropriate," he mutters. "Whoever did this must be in cahoots with the devil himself."
Mazer looks up at him and smirks. "Relative of yours?"
He turns his glare on his partner. "Very funny, Mazer."
"No, I mean it." Mazer points at the screen. "His real name's not Dr. Drakken. They just said it's Drew Lipsky. So - any relation?"
Drew.
A playful, sing-song voice drifts into his thoughts without his consent. Carly for a girl, Drew for a boy.
For a moment, his ruined workplace doesn't matter. His on-hold career doesn't matter. All that matters is the terrible pain in his chest.
"No relation, I'm sure," he tells Mazer, and for a minute he's sure he's right. The madman onscreen, smiling evilly, a gleam in his eyes that says he's enjoying devastating Earth, bears no resemblance to the sniveling child he left behind. His blue skin, wild hair, and scarred face make him look like a circus sideshow freak, and he doesn't want to keep looking at him.
But he keeps looking anyway. Until he notices the man has his hair and eyes and his ex-wife's nose and ears and chin. And then he knows.
He glances the other way and closes his eyes, as if he can block out the truth. As if when he looks back again, the supervillain who tried to conquer the world will not be his son.
And this will not be his fault.