I Cheat as Foreplay*

"Like foreplay."

Wyatt had... to be quite frank, bungled the mission to kingdom come. Or, perhaps he was exaggerating. Just a little.

At the deluge of a happy, kid-friendly pillar of pizza in the community as it released one last for all the stars blaze of electric sparks and thuggish deep tones of "Pizza Paradigm, where Dreams come true--" he winced.

Picking up his stride, for the moment putting the sultry, coying ploy of this villain behind him.

They really were bad weren't they?

And wouldn't they know, now he was the blank slate with pretty power residue and pretty face for marketing.

_______________

9:35 a.m: Morning buzz workday. Elysia Agency

"Stairs of Valhalla," Wyatt read off, excitable and in form as he always was on a busy morning. "Cool! What's it about?"

However his coworker much less alert and decidedly unamused once she ascertained Eberly as only a thorn to deal with.

"Don't worry about it, just, get on the machine will you? I see cubicle A-1d could use a fill."

"Aww come on," he needled, "we're friends here."

"No we are not. We are decidedly not," she replied icily, snapping her novel closed.

"Look I just want to--"

"You wouldn't get it if I explained it to you anyway, it's a pretty dense and thorny read. Pretty sure only college kids sink in to actually know about the damn thing," she huffed. "And only because it's required reading for some Masters!"

11:17

He had a required appearance in an hour for an exclusive party from one of their government contacts, which often handled their PR and overall in between from them and the Senator.

It was ideal to not be seen as a military installation in an otherwise upscale housewife focused shopping street.

Hence touching up and enhancing his baseline makeup for the public, discerning the best breezy yet professional variant of his work uniform and overall present in a way to not get torn apart for recent destruction and failures in catching a novice C-Vil.

He... shouldn't have given them advice on eating three square meals should he?

"Eberly, here please."

"Hmm."

He'd just tempted fate.

He knew the female presenting criminal was a wild, callous agent. It said quite a lot that even with materials they had no idea how to use there was little care in how they malfunctioned.

And quickly growing in skill.

Just how badly then, did kind mollycoddling Wyatt tempt fate?

_________________

Same time, different place

"Stairs of Valhalla," Jaydee said, scowling. "That pretentious, disorganized think piece? That S of V?"

Felicity sighed. "Yes Jaydee, that Valhalla stage show. I admit it has a flat character base and honestly chooses to focus on quite inane aspects for what the plot promises but really isn't a bad show."

"Besides meandering plot you mean?"

"Oh look whose calling a kettle black now eh Mad Scientist."

They couldn't help but flinch.

Technically they'd never told Felicity.

And technically, Felicity didn't remember the drunken night she had called up their number after a spat turned into getting kicked out of an off-campus suck fest party.

Taking Jaydee off stalking Sun-Skip duty to make sure she wasn't snatched or-- rode on.

Then again in the eyes of many strangers, she had been snatched and by no less than an up and coming Class Three C-Vil.

"The-- the Fergus you mean? That-- that's crazy, what-- I-- I cackle at thunderstorms and bring dead puppies-- you can't prove anything!"

"Jesus," she retracted. "But back on topic, at your degree and the one time I ask you to come to a lecture with me you say and I quote--"

Jaydee rolled their eyes. "Get me a Heart Stopper sub, a metric ton of Cherry Limeade, and a metal bat."

Didn't need to hear it again.

"Does it help that I realize I truly was a heartless, PMS-ing bitch? And I really would beat my younger self with a metal bat for speaking to you in such an unacceptable manner?"

"You haven't had a period in--"

"Gah- ah, please. I told you that in confidence."

Felicity smiled a bit, in a way that in no way made them less nervous, then turned the conversation to the fabric from last month instead.

"Really great stuff, you know if the shafting commoners doesn't work out..."

"Fu-nny."

"Well I mean," she pouted, "I'm a commoner."

"Trust me, you are nothing common or dirty or a pain in my ass. Besides, who would give you installations of money and fund your crazy, artsy lady dreams of community theater and Indy Broadway?"

"Independent Interpretative and Drama Arts. No snuff nose producers, no PC policing, just imagine. Real stories, visceral and scathing. Fallen heroes, rising villains as vengeful saviors this rot-suck society could actually relate to."

"Why I love you."

________________

Fallen heroes.

Those with powers, once abused and cast out of normal society.

Destructive in their intent to exact justice and salvation for their fellow 'afflicted.'

A grossly out of date term.

"One that is making a resurgence. Now these C-Villains, this entire movement casting younger and younger bad seeds, elements harming our good institutions and livelihoods. It may just be time to revive the fallen hero title as well."

"You serious?" Wyatt groused, though more flabbergasted than anything.

To be completely truthful, he could hardly keep up with such deep, layered political conversations at the best of times.

Then again this one. It fell right at the core of his current distraction.

"Mmm well, more or less."

"This one. He's getting way too old," his young apprentice guffawed. Hearty and deep. With such an incredible black beard and moustache he had to say to hear Jolly Saint Nick suited this particular hard hitter.

"Now," said Ol' Nick, found himself wholloped well. "That any way to speak Junior. Puh honest now."

Then sharp, grey eyes turned to Wyatt, refusing him even a moment's reflection on said disaster making headway into his life. The disaster and villain, he couldn't believe wholly evil, wholly villainous character at all.

"Thing is Eberly, not too many are interested in the truth anymore. Take yourself, you're what nineteen? But you look fifteen and that's to sell some image. People aren't stupid, especially not the young ones. They still know what it's like to have their parents lie to them and realize that isn't a good feeling to have. I tell you they know society's hiding something, they know they're underserved. College is a lot more expensive, focus is being put so much on the Classers out in the field there's no enforcement on teaching standards or protections against ableism or classism inside higher education facilities."

"And the ones getting the raw end are the ones actually paying or still dependent on..." Wyatt pondered, shrewd, PR driven mind putting such pieces together... "their parents, for degrees that are-- a hit or miss?"

"Pretty much. Depends a lot more on who you know to get the few good teachers," the old man said with a careless shrug.

"Then Curb Stomper really wasn't kidding," he mused.

"What now? Who was talking about that wild twip?"

"Oh just, some things they said. I thought had been having me on; failing classes and the like--"

"But," prompted the elder, beside him his apprentice looking dubiously at them both.

"For one by the looks of their body shape, height and all-- now this part is confidential," perhaps proving his very point about society torn apart by shams and PR's foreplay, "it's strong evidence to suggest this is a young adult. Likely with outside backing and powerful one at that for the littany of resources they've shown."

_________________

"I'm-- I'm honestly very disappointed in you JJ," Mr. Roseau said heavily. "Your current work just doesn't reflect what I know you're capable of."

Their face twisted into something sickly, filled with shame.

Jaydee could hardly face the dean in the eye, but razor taut instincts took over once they felt a new closeness.

"Chin up," he snapped carelessly blaise. "Have a candy, you could really use it honestly."

Jaydee complied. Unwrapping a shiny foil to reveal a strawberry creme bon-bon.

"You've gotten sloppy. Now this new media campaign that's being put through."

Upon his desk was a codified "Thesis."

"Such a thing can't go through, which I'm sure you know why. While we certainly fight within our invisible strings within the Administrative Sector for expression and liberty for Classers," Roseau pricked, "we require examples too. Namely those shunned and spurned by society-- into our waiting hands. Clever, no?"

Diabolical.

A gracious offer by the three man led Graduate Committee for a flailing student to bolster his standing and escape expulsion.

And it was right up his alley as a Qualitative Legalese Major.

A thorny question of ethics and public policy underservicing the younger generation driving their chaotic use of Qualities. Turning Sunlight and Curb Stomper into its focal points.

"This is about that Sun Child isn't it? I see it in your eyes," he prodded with a goading, syrupy voice. Laughing quite jovially. "Oh perhaps not a crush yet."

"Ridiculous, he is the last type of person I would want shooting his mouth off about morals or 'feeling good doing good.' I just want money, same as always."

"Good to hear. I have grown... rather attached to you I must admit."

His tie ended up stained by hot chocolate a few degrees too hot, from a cutesy white kitten mug waving its paw.

"Careful, I do have explosives and do have eyes on that secret vault."

Mr. Roseau's eyes sparked. "Now what nonsense is that? You college kids, such an imagination. Big mouths too."

"I apologize."

"Till it burns Tram," he reminded. "I know your Ethics Professor has been going on his rants again."

"Doesn't mean he's wrong though."

"The idea still interests you even now."

He needn't have asked.

"Sounds like an entertaining show."

Answers like that, papers playing to professors' tangents was why out of all college dredge they were here.

"I have wondered these last few weeks," Jaydee noted, turning quite daring dare they say themself, "is he one of yours?"

"Answers like that, I doubt I'll give you without a fight or some entertainment."

____________________

"Begging for mercy? Really now, how pedestrian. Are you a Classer or aren't you?"

Both assailant and victim had on quite spiffy school uniforms. Not the same one though which would make a motive and therefore conviction just a bit harder to place.

However the victim, his face immediately registered as the son of a TV personality now on board with their Youth Wellness and Prosperity Campaign.

At the sight of a weapon-- a simple box cutter-- the victim's skin changed to sad blue with orange polka dots.

Wyatt planted his feet, curving his upper body for a swift, decisive landing on some head.

And in a wash activated his ability.

Crystalized to perfection and reflecting the blue sky around him.

Jaydee figured he'd look up after first hearing the scuffle and ruckus that could be an alleyway fight or a cat.

It was the former.

Some kid a few years younger than them smashed into Jaydee, before fleeing again.

Followed by a second girlish shriek that rang true as the call of an emasculated ego.

"Oh hi there," they greeted, causing a Sun Spock hero to drop a bulky fatso to the pavement. Sputtering and mumbling for mercy.

\\Oh yeah, don't see you mother henning your own friends or did they get as sick of you as I am right now!//

\\I don't have any friends!///

\\Why would you-- you don't tell that to villains are you asking to be strung along?//

"You need to talk to people, like normal other people."

Sienna never said he should vacate the apartment when she had her boy toy of the month over. Nor did she sequester Wyatt in his room for a birthday bash. No, he'd done those things since they were her friends a part of her life, away from the superhero gig she hates so much.

"Hello would you like to go for a coffee. Technically I'm on break, meaning no ID or credentials, not supposed to put on the costume without the watch cam and cards to go with 'em."

*No, no I don't. But it's totally something Jaydee would do, put the phrase in the title and exploit all manner of loopholes they could find. Is part of a concept I hope to write out in its entirety: 'The Worst Supervillain Ever'