stops as the waitress shows up, taking their drink order. He waits a bit impatiently until she’s gone. But before he can say anything, Herold speaks.
“You just exposed your secret identity to me,” Herold says. “It seems we’re in the same position.”
“Not particularly,” Century says. “You see, there are no rules against one of our kind owning a personal business. Nor do I have a family to threaten. Of all the Hall Leaders, I care least about whether or not my true identity comes out.”
“As an oil baron?”
“Technico redid my system not too long ago. I’m being heralded as an eco-lover, now. Tell me, Herold, what do you think would happen if I came out as who I am, on top of that?”
“Every super villain in the area will target your company to attack you,” Herold says. “You think so highly of Technico, but you forget—I’m one, too,” he says silently, leaning forward.
“Oh, I’m not forgetting,” Century says. “I’m just confident that you’re not as good as he is.”
The look of pure rage that crosses Herold’s face disappears quickly, but not so quickly that Century doesn’t notice it.
“You all think you’re so superior,” Herold says, his voice measured in a way that says he’s being very restrained. “This is why your type needs to be put in their place.”
“No, boy, this is why YOU need to be put in your place,” Century says, leaning forward slightly. “We know exactly what our role in society is. It’s you that’s blurring the lines.” He looks up as the waitress approaches, smiling as if he hadn’t just threatened the other man.
“Have you decided what you’d like to order?” she asks, smiling hesitantly at him.
“Well, I’m having a bit of trouble deciding,” Century says, his accent traveling ten degrees to the south. “Tell me, darlin’, what do you think is best here?”
“Oh, um, well I’m a huge fan of—”
Century’s left hand reaches out, touching Herold’s. The other hand drops on the table. A blue light shoots out from the hand, flowing through the room in all directions. The waitress goes perfectly still, her mouth still open to talk. The sounds of silverware clinking stops, the soft mumble of conversation stills. The world around them is completely stopped in time.
“A bit showy, don’t you think?” Herold asks, pulling his hand away. “Is this a threat?”
“No, son, this is a promise,” Century says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and propping it up on the table, "from the entire Hall.”
The other Hall leaders appear on the screen, each in their own square. “Hello, Senator, as always, it’s an experience,” Mastermental says.
“Do you really think a show of strength and a threatening phone call is heroic?” Herold asks with a little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“This is just a friendly little reminder, Herold. We don’t want to start a war, now do we?” Isotonic says. “We want to offer a truce, supers to super.”
“A truce,” Herold says. “Is this bribery, then?”
“Of course not,” Century says. He has a glowing green syringe in his hand. When he pulled that out, Herold has no clue, but the sight of it sends a chill down his spine. “It’s just a little… negotiation period.”
“And that is?”
“A way for you to stop being a hypocrite,” Marigold says. “You can take the serum and become what you’ve been pretending to be, a norm. Your little war against us can go on, and we won’t be able to touch you again—at least not like we are now.”
“Or you can choose to stay a super and open yourself up to our laws,” Mastermental finishes. “I believe you’re young enough that it won’t kill you.”
“Is that how you finished off my mother?” Herold asks, his eyes glued to the serum.
“Why yes, yes it is,” Century says. “Courtesy of a woman that if we dig deep enough, has a tie with you.”
“Fascinating,” Herold says. “Shadowman, if you would—”
“You just exposed your secret identity to me,” Herold says. “It seems we’re in the same position.”
“Not particularly,” Century says. “You see, there are no rules against one of our kind owning a personal business. Nor do I have a family to threaten. Of all the Hall Leaders, I care least about whether or not my true identity comes out.”
“As an oil baron?”
“Technico redid my system not too long ago. I’m being heralded as an eco-lover, now. Tell me, Herold, what do you think would happen if I came out as who I am, on top of that?”
“Every super villain in the area will target your company to attack you,” Herold says. “You think so highly of Technico, but you forget—I’m one, too,” he says silently, leaning forward.
“Oh, I’m not forgetting,” Century says. “I’m just confident that you’re not as good as he is.”
The look of pure rage that crosses Herold’s face disappears quickly, but not so quickly that Century doesn’t notice it.
“You all think you’re so superior,” Herold says, his voice measured in a way that says he’s being very restrained. “This is why your type needs to be put in their place.”
“No, boy, this is why YOU need to be put in your place,” Century says, leaning forward slightly. “We know exactly what our role in society is. It’s you that’s blurring the lines.” He looks up as the waitress approaches, smiling as if he hadn’t just threatened the other man.
“Have you decided what you’d like to order?” she asks, smiling hesitantly at him.
“Well, I’m having a bit of trouble deciding,” Century says, his accent traveling ten degrees to the south. “Tell me, darlin’, what do you think is best here?”
“Oh, um, well I’m a huge fan of—”
Century’s left hand reaches out, touching Herold’s. The other hand drops on the table. A blue light shoots out from the hand, flowing through the room in all directions. The waitress goes perfectly still, her mouth still open to talk. The sounds of silverware clinking stops, the soft mumble of conversation stills. The world around them is completely stopped in time.
“A bit showy, don’t you think?” Herold asks, pulling his hand away. “Is this a threat?”
“No, son, this is a promise,” Century says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and propping it up on the table, "from the entire Hall.”
The other Hall leaders appear on the screen, each in their own square. “Hello, Senator, as always, it’s an experience,” Mastermental says.
“Do you really think a show of strength and a threatening phone call is heroic?” Herold asks with a little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“This is just a friendly little reminder, Herold. We don’t want to start a war, now do we?” Isotonic says. “We want to offer a truce, supers to super.”
“A truce,” Herold says. “Is this bribery, then?”
“Of course not,” Century says. He has a glowing green syringe in his hand. When he pulled that out, Herold has no clue, but the sight of it sends a chill down his spine. “It’s just a little… negotiation period.”
“And that is?”
“A way for you to stop being a hypocrite,” Marigold says. “You can take the serum and become what you’ve been pretending to be, a norm. Your little war against us can go on, and we won’t be able to touch you again—at least not like we are now.”
“Or you can choose to stay a super and open yourself up to our laws,” Mastermental finishes. “I believe you’re young enough that it won’t kill you.”
“Is that how you finished off my mother?” Herold asks, his eyes glued to the serum.
“Why yes, yes it is,” Century says. “Courtesy of a woman that if we dig deep enough, has a tie with you.”
“Fascinating,” Herold says. “Shadowman, if you would—”
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