I threw back another shot of whisky and immediately another appeared in front of me. The bartender shrugged and nodded to the guy at the other end of the bar who raised his own beer to me. I let out a sigh, raised the drink, and tossed it back. Before the bartender cleared away the glasses I said, "You know, it was just last week when people would've been too terrified to be in the same city as me, and now they're buying me drinks as if we were buddies in high school."
The bartender again shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the glasses. "Perks of saving the world, Mr. The Omega," he said before walking away.
I stared at my reflection in the stainless chrome of my helmet sitting on the bar. Maybe that's what I needed, a demonstration to remind people who I really am. That The Omega is not their shining knight. It would be so easy too. I had conventional weapons as well as a few fun toys: the classic heat-ray that turned its targets to ash, and my custom sonic cannon that, when tuned precisely, would shatter bones or rupture organs while leaving the skin intact.
"Can I buy my new friend here a drink, bartender," said a voice breaking my fantasy of screams and suffering. A figure dropped into the seat next to me, pushing my helmet closer to me.
The bartender brought over a club soda for me (probably after I almost tipped out of my seat) and a beer for the other man. He raised his drink, clinking the neck of the bottle against my untouched glass. "Cheers to the world's newest superhero!" he said loudly with an arm wrapped around my shoulder. In the large mirror behind the bar, the rest of the patrons lifted their drinks too.
I took a sip of the soda. Leaning over to the other man, I growled, "The last person to touch me died such a horrific death that it took a full day to document the crime scene because the investigators couldn't stop vomiting all over themselves."
The man leaned in too, his voice no longer jovial but filled with the same venom to match mine. "Come now, Mr. Harry Richardson, is that how a man who saved the entire world should behave?"
My eyes narrowed and I leaned away to fully take in this man. A black suit just bland enough to tell me he was a government agent. He swiveled in his stool enough to show off the gun beneath his jacket and the badge clipped to his belt. "And the last man to use my real name took days to die, as did his family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, and even the people he graduated high school with," I said as I turned back to my drink.
The agent took a drink of his beer, then placed his briefcase on the table. Instinctively, my hand rested on the grip of the heat-ray on my hip. "Let's not be too hasty to kill the messenger, Mr. Richardson. I'm Agent John Smith of the United Nations Joint Task Force on Superhumans, and I'm here to make you an offer." He placed a folder almost as thick as his briefcase on the bar and signaled the bartender for another beer. I got another club soda.
"What's this supposed to be?" I said, not touching the file placed in front of me.
The agent took a drink of the new beer. "You're supposed to be a smart man, you tell me." Then he got up and headed to the restroom, leaving me alone with the file.
At first I was confused as I read reports about the event from last week. As I turned the pages, I realized what really happened behind the scenes. My anger built with every page I turned, and, to my credit, I restrained myself from marching into the restroom and vaporizing Agent Smith at the urinal. I flipped the folder closed and signaled the bartender for another whisky as Agent Smith returned to his seat. I threw back the shot then turned to the other man. "You set me up to save the world!" I said, my hand reaching for the grip of my heat-ray. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't turn your bones to ashes, have my people massacre everyone in your office, as I take a trip to your home and strangle your family in their beds."
Agent Smith just grinned, taking a sip of his beer and setting it gently down on the bar. "World Domination," he said as he picked up the folder, his briefcase, and his beer, then headed to the back of the bar. Though seething with rage, my curiosity at his answer stayed my hand and bought him a moment longer to live.
"First off, Mr. Richardson," he said as he settled into a booth, his smile never faltering, "thank you for not killing me and everyone else in the bar. I was really looking forward to this part of the operation the most."
"Keep talking," I snarled as another glass of whisky dropped onto the table in front of me.
"It's no exaggeration to say that you are the most feared and dangerous supervillain we've ever encountered. You've outright killed lower-ranked heroes, and even when the Tier Five heroes team up to foil your plans it still seems like you come out on top. The agency has tried numerous time to negotiate, bargain, bribe, and even assassinate you, all to no effect. So we studied you searching for anything we could exploit. What do you know, the answer is staring us right in the face - your goal of world domination."
Agent Smith opened the folder and spread each individual file and report onto the table. My hand clenched tighter and tighter around my glass as rage boiled up inside of me. For the safety of Agent Smith's health, my free hand followed along with each file he pointed to as he explained in full detail how the UN manipulated me into saving the world. The superpowered people they'd either manipulated, coerced, bribed, threatened, or out-right brainwashed into carrying out their plans. The specifications of the Doomsday weapons and their locations at certain capitals across the globe. And ultimately, knowing my goals of subduing the people through fear, and how the chaotic aftermath of destroying centers of political power would disrupt all of it.
Agent Smith leaned back in his seat and downed the last of his beer. "And there's nothing you can do about it. The superheroes, the villains, world leaders, the everyday folks. All their eyes are on you now. You can't go back to your old ways after what we turned you into." Agent Smith picked up his files, dropped some money on the table and slid out of the booth. "Good luck, Mr. Richardson," he said with a sneer before turning his back and walking out the doors.
I picked up my drink and returned to my still-empty seat at the bar. As angry as I was at being manipulated, Smith was right - I couldn't returned to my previous ways. At least not without generating more annoyances. "How much of that did your hear, Number Two?" I said.
The bartender switched off his earpiece. "Every word, Sir," he replied. I motioned with my hand and several other patrons stood and walked out the door, leaving the other civilians baffled. "He's right though. We've never played nice with the other villains but we had an understanding. They may not know about this conspiracy but they know we interfered with someone else's plans and now they'll be gunning for us. The heroes might appreciate the one heroic act but that doesn't change the decade of crime. One foot out of line and they'll come down hard. The civilians that once feared the mention of your name aren't even afraid to be in your presence. Killing them again will just lead to confusion, and not the easily manipulated type that'll docile them like sheep, but the stupid type of confusion that'll make them lash out like morons."
I nodded along with his analysis. Number Two hasn't remained my number two (or alive) for holding back in either his actions or words. "Yes, I'm afraid you're right. We'll just have to play ball with Agent Smith and the UN for now." I swirled the last of the whisky before downing it in a gulp. "Though this does show me that political power can be its own kind of power, especially on a global stage. Yes, that'll be our next plot. Start scouting for a region I may usurp as my own. Someplace I can offer a better life, ruling like a benevolent god while crushing the populace with an iron fist as they grin and sing my praises. Yes, that kind of country would surely hold sway within the UN in a few years."
"Yes, Sir. I'll put some men on it right away," Number Two responded as he poured me another drink. Then he leaned in closer. "And, Sir, about the insult?"
I nodded, taking the filled glass in my hand. "Ahh, yes, I haven't forgotten. It'll be my little project finding where Agent Smith lives, where he works, where he graduated college, and who he graduated high school with." I swirled the liquid thoughtfully before gulping it down. "No, everyone in his high school. Yes, that should provide me with some entertainment once the eyes on me become less watchful."
"Sir, you know that John Smith is probably a fake name?"
I smiled as I got off the stool and made my way to the door. "Of course, it wouldn't be fun if it were easy."
From the Reddit Writing Prompt about a villain brooding at a bar about how they loved being a villain until they happened to save the world (it's a long one to type). Not that you care, in fact, you were probably enjoying the quiet from my lack of writing posts, I was working on a zombie story. It took me about a week to get three-quarters of the way through before I realized that the story might be better if written from the zombie's point-of-view. And then I spent another week dreading going back and doing revisions (I'll get back to it eventually). In comparison, after not even picking up a pen for several days, I found this prompt and got this done over several hours in just three days. This "story" (if you want to call it that) is just a conversation and nothing more. If you're paying attention (which you shouldn't, you need those brain cells to remember other things like the date of your anniversary or the name of that dancer you liked to watch for when things get back to normal) you might recognize The Omega from the pizza delivery story. No, I'm not trying to establish some cohesive universe where my stories fit together. I just couldn't think of another name, and I'm lazy. Also, in true scatterbrain fashion, I do have several other stories in the works to bother you with: books I finished last month, that zombie story I mentioned earlier, my Pokemon fan-fic, some real-life stories (a topic in my earlier days of writing I tried never to write).
