When superhero Rob turns to villainy to complete his mission, he wasn't expecting to unmask the heroic monster threatening the city, nor to fall again for the supervillain he once betrayed.
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Superhero Roberto Tapir, a.k.a. Grizzly Bear, has a m...
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March 1st, 2047 — 10 months before.
—Léon—
"Is it that strange I want to have sex to Gotye's State of the Art?" Léon asked in a whisper.
Satina Hamman scoffed and whispered back, "Do we really need to discuss this now? We're kind in the middle of something, cousin." She glanced at the golden plaque nailed on the double doors before them, then looked at Léon again.
He twiddled with his fingers and looked around the somber corridor. The yellowish lights pouring around the expensive greek busts and old paintings were the only thing between them and total darkness. "Can we? I'm nervous as hell, trying not to think about being dismembered... or fired. Or both."
Satina rolled her eyes. "All right. Make your case about those old-as-hell songs you like."
Léon breathed out a thankful smile. "Being old is what makes them unique. I mean, there's nothing like it anymore."
Satina snickered, staring at his good eye. "We have better music. Like Mercurial Unicorn. Have you heard their latest single? It's the pinnacle of new-meaty-synth!"
"Let's be real, Tiny. It's the remix of a cat sneezing." Satina furrowed her brow and shushed, but he continued. "You have to hear Beyoncé, EXO, Mc Tha, and mainly The Darkness. That's real music!"
"And BTS?"
"And BTS."
Satina was smaller than Léon, but she scoffed and looked down at him as if she were one meter taller. "Right. No one cares about that, Leo. I mean, I love you, but you're obsessed. Be a neo-hipster if you want; just don't grate my nerves." She crossed her arms, her shocking-blue uniform contrasting with the strong sienna in her pouty lips. "We're three years away from the half of the century. Be a part of it."
A second woman cleared her throat.
"Sorry," Léon and Satina said in unison.
And yes, chatting about music should be enough to calm him, but being called to the main office was never a good sign—and it was even worse for the two villains with the worse personal rankings in the entire company.
Wringing the plastipaper folder in his hands, Léon Dickens stared at the closed wooden doors. Goosebumps formed on his arms. "Say something," he whispered to Satina.
At his side, Satina took in a deep breath and turned to the woman beside them. "Are you sure this is necessary, Nica? We were about to leave for a mission—a three-point-nine mission. We received word of a hijack in the freelancers' neighborhood. Silver Coldheart is trying to steal something from one of The Mayor's facilities, and we want to intercept the cargo before the League can have it."
Anachronica stared at them. She was a tall woman with a thick Old Continentian accent who always wore red pantsuits and white wingtips that clicked on the marble floors like tap-dance shoes. As second in command, she answered only to Iara Iamí-Xarãma, her wife and CEO of Invidia Company; different from Iara, Anachronica was severe and direct—and filled with a warm strength that inspired trust.
