True Story© Supervillain vs. Supervillain




I am a supervillain.
A bearded, hefty, mean-ass supervillain whose short-term memory is terrible, but remembers EXCRUCIATING details of mundane shit that happened forever ago just to hold a grudge.  Shit, that is how I BECAME a supervillain.

     After my accident in 2003 is when I basically decided to fully embrace my bearded supervillainy and I am to understand that this about when I grew to full inner/interstellar notoriety for my escapades.
One day a couple of years in, I got a letter.

Mr. Evans, this contact is to offer our deepest appreciation for your contributions to the profession of being a supervillain.  We know the amount of stress and deep thought that goes into the making even the most mundane of plans, and as a token of our appreciation we would LOVE to have you at the Annual International Supervillain vs. Supervillain convention and competition.  We will send a courier with the official invite and registration form, containing all necessary contact and location information.  We ask that you keep this information as confidential as possible.
Thank you.

This is shit I thought only happened in silly-ass Saturday afternoon movies and bad comic books.  It reminded me a little bit of Enter The Dragon.  Now I am in the enviable position to witness a thing or twelve about a world I had previously only barely kind of imagined existed.
I also had to plan some of my best work for this one.

     In the coming weeks, the courier came with the rest of registration package and returned to get it into the proper hands without alerting any prying National/International Security eyes.  I checked my passport status and made travel arrangements and daydreamed every day about what I may come against.
When I got to the convention center in [redacted Scandinavian country], I was greeted to people that even I as a proud weirdo would call “fucking weirdoes.”  The costumes, vehicles and fake weapons reminded me of one of those bad weeaboo comic convention home in the states.  The titties and cleavage, however, reminded me of a good one.

     Look, none of us has the collective attention spans to get into the teeth of what all I saw or did as a part of the competition.
For the sake of time constraints, we will move you forward into the competition…
First and second rounds were simple enough, but I had not come quite well-enough equipped and realized that I do this shit for hobby and some of these cats are doing it to live.  With that said, I knew that all I had to do was not die and hope to be invited back the following year.  I had not performed well enough to make the 3-way finals, but placed in another three-way for runner up.

I had a plan, though…
The invitation process was like Enter The Dragon, but the competition itself was like the Schwarzenegger movie The Running Man.  For my competition in the runner up I tricked my rivals into stopping at, and then robbing, a large bank with me.  JUST before the fecal matter hit the rotating oscillator, I rolled on them and got them both arrested.  In corrupt-as-fuck eastern Europe, I cut the remaining cops in on a cut of the take when WE robbed that same bank while most of the other cops were busy arresting and containing two fucking supervillains.
With my take of the robbery, I found the nearest crematorium and lined the owner’s palms with enough money to show me how to use the incinerator and then take the rest of the day off.  Back at the station house, I had my bound-and-shackled competitors mounted up still alive and waterboarded them for an hour until they BEGGED me to shoot them to put them out of their misery.
Did I say “out of their misery”?  Why the hell ELSE would I rent a crematorium for a day?  Recording for FB live shared only with the secret hidden group and broadcast back at the convention center, I slid the boards into the oven with my rivals still attached and turned em on.
I walked back to the convention center and took the runner up space on the podium.

     But I wasn’t done…
The finals were just about to start.

     Only two of the three finalists had shown up.  Strangely, the one everyone THOUGHT would have been the eventual winner was missing in action.
I snickered.
They asked if I wanted in on the finals.  I politely declined, explaining it off to mental and physical exhaustion for what I had just pulled off.  They understood.
I snickered again.
We all watched as PROFESSIONAL supervillains battled it out with the eventual winner having arranged to have the loser buried/drowned in well beneath an oil derrick.  I thought the shit was pretty mundane considering what I had just thought my way out of but they say the winner is usually the one who runs out of money last and anyone who can make use of oil production equipment is apparently the one with the longer paper.  I ain’t mad.  He had won the competition this year and I won first runner up.  We were both invited back the following year with first-round byes in the competition due to the outcome of this time around.

     But I wasn’t done…

Next year comes, we arrive to the convention and this year they have it in an Asian island country.
Make no mistakes, this shit was no paradise.
As a formality of having placed so highly in the previous year’s competition, we were introduced as a part of a special ceremony in which we would be able to do a little something to show off our sepervillainous prowess.

     My rival puts on a pyrotechnic display while he did all kinds of crazy wily tactical martial arts maneuvers.

*yawn*

     Me?
No, wait!

Remember that one finalist that hadn’t shown up for the finals?
Well with my take on the bank robbery, I hit him with a tranq dart and took him to a doctor keep him sedated and safe in a medically-induced coma for several months.
“Safe,” lmao.
While in that medically-induced coma, he was also introduced and maintained on the hormones that would transition him from male to female.  Yes, kept comfortable and basically asleep.  Well nourished and generally in wonderful shape.
“Safe.”
As “safe” as one can be considered to be if they go to sleep as a man and wake up eleven-and-a-half months later as a woman.  So imagine, waking up with no concept of WHEN the fuck it is, how long you have been wherever you have been and being the opposite sex of what you were when you went under.  You’d IMMEDIATELY go insane, right?
Well I snapped my fingers and (s)he was allowed into the arena at that cue.  Screaming and writhing around completely out of his fucking gourd.
I stepped down off the platform and smiled maniacally at last year’s winner, then looking across this year’s competition…

“Gentlemen…  Ladies…  Shall we proceed?”

They.
All.
Quit.

Every single person in the competition immediately backed out and refused to take me on.  I was given the champion’s take and trophy, and I guess one could say I had earned it, but they probably should have played along since that was the only thing I had pre-planned for the competition.


The committee, when they sent the mailer in subsequent years, sent it as a “legacy” thing, where I would sit in a VIP booth, give expert commentary and could even be a consultant for contestants, but they wanted me nowhere NEAR the competition as a participant.
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