"...with villain recruitment down 12% from last year we're gonna need to brainstorm new ways to get people on board. Let's do a round robin. Counterclockwise. No, Radical Left, my counterclockwise."
The Monarch's gaze flitted like his namesake about the boardroom. He was bored. Terribly, awfully, woefully bored. He searched desperately for something that might hold his interest long enough to land on.
He found a hanging banner bearing the Guild's globe and dragon emblem along with their motto.
"Hate You Can Trust."
Hate.
The Monarch knew hate. He'd known it every waking day of his life since the first year of community college. A burning, itching desire which gave purpose to every little spiteful gesture.. Just picturing Dr. Venture's smug, archable face would drive him out of bed in the mornings.
But that was then. This was now.
What'd the Guild know about hate?
13 of the world's foremost super-criminals sat around a cigar shaped table in an underground bunker underneath his mortal enemy's desert compound. Today, as they did on the first of every other month, they came together to plot the course of costumed villainy.
You'd think there'd be a little more life to it.
"...but if vhe shift ze Fiends Und Family incentive over to a dues deduction instead of a fixed percentage of loot royalties, are vhe not losing money?"
"Ah, Ünderbheit, but you have fallen into a perdiforous death trap of short term thinking!" Dr. Z stroked his liver spotted chin smugly. "Consider Herr Baron, that to qualify for a Fiends & Family franchise you must join as a dues paying member of the Guild of Calamitous Intent! For every cent of old money we lose we shall gain TWO CENTS from new membership!"
Z held up two of his grody old man fingers and showed them to the other councilmen emphatically.
"TWO CENTS!"
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch clapped her hands together.
"Alright people, these have all been fine ideas but we need to think bigger. This Patriarch debacle is setting some bad precedent. Villains are eyeing government work as an option and that's gonna really start stretching us when we have to compete with federal dollars."
The Monarch tried to stifle a yawn.
His Head Councilwoman and also wife noticed. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and offered up an apologetic smile. He smiled back.
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch was the one good thing about this stupid job. She had been his rock through this whole transition period. She was a natural at all this evil bureaucracy stuff. Plus she looked damn good in that uniform. She had this whole… sexy dominatrix dictator thing going on. Maybe later tonight he would rent that tape she liked and they could---
"---Monarch!"
"Eh? What? Who dares?!"
He snapped out of his daydreaming to find his wife jostling the armrest of his throne.
She cleared her throat. "We need the Sovereign's approval to proceed to a Council Vote on this session's proposals for membership drives." Her eyebrows furrowed and she dug her elbow into his ribs below the table. "We've been over this sweetie." She whispered. "You need to pay attention for just a few more hours."
"Why do we even care about new members?" The Monarch complained. "What, you want another Professor Impossible? Phantom Limb made us let him in 'cause he's loaded and now that goody two shoes is whining for us to give him an Arch who isn't 'too heroic' so he doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's just sad!"
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch shot him a look.
The Monarch groaned. "Yes, dear. Go ahead and hold your little vote." He said. "Unless the class has any more burning comments."
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch scanned the table.
"Wes?" The Councilwoman prodded. "You've been quiet today."
An incredibly pale, bald man in sunglasses glanced up sleepily.
"Wuh? Oh yeah. Um." He sucked his teeth as he talked. The Monarch hated people who did that. Not like, capital H Hate, but he was moderately grateful to feel anything other than bored. "Yeah I dig it. New perspectives are like, important for the art. It all needs to be happening. Variety." He smiled awkwardly. "Yeah, so I think we should also extend Z's membership due deductible to sidekicks and henchmen who um, wanna graduate to doing stuff. On their own."
"That so you can feel less guilty about all those 'muses' you burn through at your factory Andy?"
Heads turned at the accusation. A man in a zebra striped costume sat back in his chair, feet kicked up on the table. An opaque glass dome covered his face but the Monarch could've sworn he'd heard his voice before.
Wes Warhammer looked profoundly uncomfortable. Maybe. Probably. He could've been a little paler than he started. "Hey, um, we don't use those names when we're with the Guild. Also, let's not go distressing each other? No value judgements."
"Who's being judgemental?" The striped man spread his arms. "Nah, 's real noble of you to throw Gilligan a life raft after stranding him on the fuckin' island."
He had a lazy drawl. Spoke slowly, but intensely. The Monarch knew that voice from somewhere. Maybe during his college years?
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch banged her skull-faced gavel. "Hey, order! We're all adults here so save the emotional outbursts." She scolded. "This is both your first meeting as a sitting councillor so I'll tell you now that if you've got beef with each other, save it for Vendetta Week."
"UNIT IS ONLINE AND OPERATIONAL."
"Not you Vendata." She snapped. "Alright, let's get back on track people."
The Monarch held up his hand. "Hold, dearest. Your Sovereign wants to hear what he has to say for himself."
He squinted down the table at the interruptor.
"So, Mister…"
He realised he didn't actually know the man's name. He turned to his wife for assistance.
"European Son." The villain answered for himself.
"Eugh. If you say so." The Monarch said. "Tell me, Mister European Son, do you have a problem with Councilman 11's proposal?"
"Nah. Go ahead and do something nice for the little guy for once." Shrugged the European Son. "Shuffle the money around, yeah. It's all good. But it's no substitute for direction."
"Oh?" The Monarch quirked a magnificently groomed eyebrow. Well worth the exorbitant cost of eyebrow wax. "You think the Reign of the Mighty Monarch is without direction?"
Truth be told, it was.
Killinger had been very up front about it. The only reason he had installed the Monarch as the Sovereign was to keep everybody else from fighting over the position.
He hated this job. And not in a fun way. Not even the lowercase h hate.
The European Son shifted languidly. The man was like a glacier. Always moving, but so slow you barely noticed. He tapped two fingers to the glass of his helmet and then let them fall.
"What do I think? I don't think it's you, man. I think it's the machine. We're gathering all these members and all this money and all this turf but what's it doing?" He let out a barking laugh. "That's the big one. The question everybody's always trying to answer. What do you want?"
The Monarch rubbed his chin. A smile played across his lips.
"That's the first time that anybody's asked me that."
Dr. Mrs. The Monarch glanced at him worriedly.
The Monarch rose from his seat. His brilliant wings unfurled behind him. Okay one of them got a little caught on the edge of the table but once they were up there was no denying they were glorious.
"I want to crawl down into whatever slimy little hole Dr. Venture is hiding away in and drag him quivering up into the sunlight by the nape of his neck. I want to scream bloody vengeance and have it mean something. I want to feel something real again dammit!" He slammed his fist down on the table.
"Hmmph." That was the Phantom Limb. Arrogant prick. He had his invisible arms folded. Maybe. Probably. He sneered down his nose at the Monarch. "Thaddeus Venture is dead and gone. If that simple fact eludes you, then maybe it's time for a new Sovereign."
"LIES!" The Monarch roared. "THERE WAS NO BODY!"
"Get ahold of yourself." Dr. Mrs.The Monarch swatted him on the wrist. "I'm sorry, sweetie. But Limb is right. Even if he was still alive, you are literally the only person who still cares about him. You can't run the Guild based on one vendetta."
"UNIT IS ONLINE AND---"
"Not you!"
The Monarch wilted.
She was right. No matter how much hate burned in his heart for Doctor Venture, he had a job to do here. Quitting wasn't an option. Being Sovereign was a title for life. They'd sooner murder him than let him leave.
The Monarch had lived his entire life according to a single, all-consuming passion. Without that, what was left?
The European Son spoke.
"Maybe I should put things in perspective." He drew a long and wistful breath. "Once upon a time this was a place for rock & roll. A place for all those idols to be themselves instead of selling themselves." He dipped his dome to Red Mantle & Dragoon. His featureless glass face turned back to the Monarch. "Like you said man. Hate's real. We're all in this to feel something for once in our lives. Some of us just need a little push. And some of us need to get out of each others' way."
"Like that miserable cretin Mandark!" Said Professor Phineas Phage, the world's vilest virologist. "Thanks to him I have to check the patent office every time I build a new Genome Scrambler."
"He has turned mad science into a big business!" Dr. Z agreed.
"And that half pint she-devil Mandy!" Croaked The Red Mantle. "What has the world come to when a man can't conjure a Chthonic demon without filing immigration papers?"
The Council of Thirteen erupted with curses, oaths, and heartfelt vows of vengeance against the names of half a dozen powerful autocrats and oligarchs.
The Monarch looked around and found himself immersed in exactly what he had been looking for. Hatred. Raw and honest. After so long without even a whiff of passion it was energising. A contact high.
A villainous laugh bubbled up from deep within him.
"MRUUHAHAHAHAHA!"
Heads turned. The Council went silent.
The Monarch pumped his fist.
"YES! That is the energy we need people! That's it!" He cackled. "Dr. Mrs. My Wife, as Sovereign it is within my power to set Guild bounties. Correct?"
She shrugged. "I mean you can, but are you seriously proposing putting a hit out on Mandy? There are way easier ways to commit suicide."
The Monarch sneered. "A hit? Oh no. Nothing so permanent snookums. We're going to licence some very special arches." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "There's your recruitment drive. You want people to get excited about the Guild again? Give them free reign to harass, provoke, and menace the people who make all of our lives more annoying. Mandark, Mandy, and the worst of the bunch. That child-obsessed pyromaniac freak Father."
He examined his council, met the gazes of every single one of his subordinates. He finally settled back on European Son's glass dome.
"You want rock & roll, fishbowl? Then we're taking on the man. Everyone, I want you to compile a Guild shitlist. People who've been thorns in our side. Meddling do-gooders. Heck, folks who've just rubbed you the wrong way. Anybody who agrees to arch them gets a free ride. No Guild dues, full legal protection, access to henchmen, training, weapons, retreats, the works. We tell everybody on this list exactly what they need to do to get their names erased and until they change their minds we give 'em hell."
He glanced back at his wife. She was wearing an enormous smile on her face. "Yeah.. That could work." She nodded. "I like this. Okay people, you heard the Sovereign. Get to it!"
"And I know exactly where to start." The Monarch smirked. "Father wants to play war hero in the Great White North? Fine. He gets the full treatment. It's time to kill two birds with one stone."
---
Today you received another envelope from the Guild.
Apparently you've been assigned an 'Arch.' You wondered idly to themselves what sort of good guy they've cooked up to throw at you. Your experience with sooperheroes was honestly pretty limited. Whoever they were, you hoped they weren't anything like Knightbrace.
You tore open the letter and scanned through the enclosed dossier.
…
Was this a joke?
Staring back at you was a photo of a man who was your spitting image. Right down to the pipe.
"Meet Your Supervillain: Professor Richard Impossible."
Professor Impossible has been assigned to Father with a 1st Class Level 10 Special Arching License - Unlimited Nonlethal Hostility.
Every turn, he or a subcontracted villain under the Fiends & Family plan may try to sabotage Father unless he is dealt with.
In the back of the dossier you also find a very interesting clause highlighted and circled with red marker.
Level 10 Arching License Will Expire In The Event Of Either
A) Father's public instatement as a federally licensed superhero & permanent renunciation of supervillainy
B) An end to Father's cooperation with OSI and any other agency of the federal government
