The Breakdown: With nothing more than an email, one of the greatest super villains of the modern age, Dr. Demento, finds himself suddenly unemployed. Never one to turn the other cheek, he begins a quest to find out why he, of all the villains, got the proverbial boot. In his search for answers he uncovers a conspiracy more frightening the any evil plot he’s ever hatched. If he’s to survive unemployment—and the day—he’ll have to suit up for one last battle, one he has very little hope of winning...
Dr. Demento's Very, Very, Very Bad Day
Copyright © 2009 by L. R. Giles, All Rights Reserved
The robotic, yet feminine, voice sounded from a hundred speakers throughout my icy lair, echoing off the glacial walls, “Dr. Demento, you’ve got mail.”
So started the worst day of my career.
I turned off the faucet in my bathroom, bit down on my toothbrush bristles and checked the atomic clock over the mirror. It was early still, not even eight in the morning. The notification came from my secure computer line, the one hooked directly to Brigade headquarters. Something was wrong.
My monogram towel hung from the rack next to the sink. I grabbed it, replaced my toothbrush in its holder, spat, then wiped foam from my lips. I proceeded to the War Room, but not quickly. There was a time when I would’ve gone running, snatching up weapons and armor as I went, in preparation for that month’s Armageddon. Not so much these days. After fifteen years and a thousand battles, I found speeding to the end of one catastrophe only got you closer to the start of another.
The path from my bedchamber to the War Room consisted of cipher-like ice corridors reinforced with titanium-carbonite studs and joists. My lair resembled an unsolved Rubik’s cube, constantly shifting, almost never the same. I’d designed the security feature to confound any unwanted element who found their way into my hideout. They could conceivably wander the halls forever, never finding an exit, or more importantly, me. The navigation systems in my brain and armor allowed me to pass through my shifting domicile with ease. But, that morning—and not for the first time—I found it all kind of . . . excessive. I rarely had friends over, let alone enemies. In a way, the only thing my security system did was make getting up for a midnight snack a pain in the ass.
I entered the War Room, my 3,000 square foot home office.
I heard the patter of water dripping from the ceiling in a thousand places. I’d placed a few dozen tin buckets to catch the worst of it, but they filled fast and even my superpowers couldn’t address the root of the problem. Thus were the trials of maintaining a hideout in the heart of an iceberg during the worst period of Global Warming the earth has ever faced.
My control chair waited like an amusement park roller coaster car at its docking station. I sank into it and the chair’s user-interface connected to the diodes at the base of my skull. At my mental command, the chair sailed along its magnetic track like the monorail at Disney World and deposited me in front of the three mega-screens embedded in the ice walls. With a thought, I moved a cursor the size of a small-child across the LCD display and opened my e-mail program. Only the most recent message from Bedlam Brigade headquarters populated my Inbox:
To: Dr. Demento
From: Bedlam Brigade HR
Subject: Important News About Your Role in the Organization!
For a moment, I felt relief. You see, I was up for a long-overdue promotion to ‘Primary’. More responsibility, but also more freedom and power. I looked forward to stepping outside Brigade Mandates in terms of my armor, a Primary perk. I planned to do away with the purple and gold for something more contemporary. Something black maybe. Plus the whole skintight thing just meant longer hours in the gym to keep my abs together. Trust me, the crunches were getting old.
I felt confident the email would confirm what I already knew. I was qualified, I had the seniority and I’d done well in my interview. As I opened the message, I began celebrating in my head. Then I read further.
Dear Dr. Demento,
It is our sincere displeasure to inform you that, due to economic crisis beyond our control, we have been forced to make changes in our infrastructure. As a result, you have been terminated. There is no need to turn in your credentials as your Level 5 security status has been revoked. Your final compensation has been deposited into your bank account of record. Also, your health and welfare benefits will remain in effect for the next 180 days. Thank you very much for your many years of dedicated villainy. We wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
Bedlam Brigade Human Resources.
I re-read it three times before I dialed up Brigade headquarters in search of answers. The phone rang endlessly. I didn’t get angry. After all these years of terror plots, mad schemes, extortion, and plans to take over and/or annihilate the planet, I rarely got upset.
I got even.
But the Brigade stood a thousand strong, and despite what some might think, I had no interest in lashing out at the first unlucky soul who got in my way. I wanted my revenge personal and purposeful, a trademark of mine. I set out to find out who else got the boot and who was responsible for the final decision. I had my suspicions, but I wanted to be sure.
I needed to know exactly who to kill for this...
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