How to Become a Henchman, A Novel: The Henchman's Survival Guide Page 3

  “Please replace the helmet,” the moped chirps as my Band hums with the receipt for my ride. I click the helmet into its pod, and the moped speeds off to its garage or to pick up its next passenger. The ride has given me time to ponder my newfound knowledge.

  Legally, citizens of Biggie LC aren’t allowed to unmask a hero, but we all know vils and their producers are willing to pay serious crypto Loons for good intel. I could make a fortune selling Adan out to Cleopatra or Evil Santa. I’ve heard that the Vengeful Knight is despo for a ratings boost. Unmasking Shine, the town’s most beloved sidekick, is sure to grab the eyes across the world, especially from the teen female contingent.

  It’s tempting to cash in on Adan’s secret, it really is, but I can’t do it. I don’t actually have any proof that Adan is Shine, aside from my keen observations of his ass. What’s really holding me back, though, is the knowledge that I’d be destroying Shine. Unmasking is a ratings death sentence. Whenever it happens, every two-bit vil considers it their chance to grab a little more fame. It takes all of two secs for them to look up a hero’s real-person Stream, see their most common check-in locations, and go after them.

  I happen to know that my current landlord, Gerald, used to be a serious villain. This secret was nonchalantly offered to me by his son – my best friend, Matthew – about a week after I moved in. He even gave me a tour of his dad’s dusty lair in the basement.

  As smarmy as Adan is, I don’t want to bomb his career. I keep pondering that stem cell ointment he offered. Deep down, he might be a halfway decent human.

  While these thoughts circle my brain, I take a shortcut through a small wooded copse to get to the house. There’s a reason the GPS can’t ever find it. Just after PAGS bought up the whole town and was turning it into the first master-planned semi-reality experiment, they offered Gerald a contract to become one of Biggie LC’s founding villains, The Professor. With his first paycheck, he commissioned this house to be 3D printed exactly to his specifications and purposefully submitted the wrong GPS coordinates to whatever gov-corp partnership controls the GPS app within everyone’s Stream.

  No one ever discovered his lair, not in all nine seasons of his show.

  I walk up the long driveway and face the Victorian mansion. Thick clusters of trees on each side of the property provide vil-friendly seclusion. The first green buds of spring carpet the branches. This is my fav time of year. The cold, dreary weather is almost over, and the hot swamp of summer is still months away. Plus, major dust storms are rare in the spring.

  The mansion is huge. Maybe it was glam once when Gerald first built it 16 years ago, but in present tense, it looks weathered and lonely, like its owner. Forgotten. All that old glory swiped away by time.

  What matters to me is that the rent’s cheap and the roof doesn’t leak.

  It also doesn’t hurt that a cute stranger is currently staring daggers at the front door.

  As I get closer, I watch him grumble at his Band. You can tell a lot about a person by what they wear on their wrist. His Band is wide and golden; an Eagle model. Eagles cost serious Loons, but they’re not flashy and are considered workhorse models. I bet his Stream loads at the speed of sound and can run a harem of AI assistants at the same time.

  Since the stranger is currently preoccupied with the door, I give my eyes permission to perform a more through discovery. I immediately like him for the things he’s not wearing: no polka dot suspenders that every guy in town suddenly thinks is attractive, no glowing streaks of color in his curly brown hair, and no moving tattoos visible on his flesh. His clothes look hardly chipped at all.

  He’s so clean-cut handsome that I suddenly worry he might be one of those newer model robos, the ones they say look and act so human that you can’t tell the difference. It makes me think of that Robot Bachelor show from Media Sector 3 that Lysee hearts so much. It was always super simple to tell which bachelorettes were robos, but that didn’t stop last season’s guy from accidentally proposing to one.

  “Hi. Oh hi, do you live here?”

  The man’s voice jerks me from my thoughts. He’s heard me approach and is probably wondering why I’m staring at him like a lobotomy.

  “Sure do,” I say, and give him what I hope is a smile that says, not with crazy.

  As he turns toward me, I see that his pale brown eyes look almost amber in the sunlight. I am transfixed by a small, dark mole just under his left eye. I stare at the mole, transfixed by the clear imperfection of it. We live in a world where moles are quickly lasered off, where UBI payments are greedily hoarded to pay for the elimination of birthmarks and scars and every unwanted stray hair.

  This mole is a statement, a cry of rebellion. I’m instantly mesmerized by the man who so casually wields it.

  “I live here too,” he’s saying. “At least I thought I did. The landlord gave me the code, but this damn thing isn’t responding.” He twitches his wrist, and his Totem, a polar bear, shrugs its shoulders and looks chagrinned. Small muscles tighten in the man’s face as he throws another malevolent look at the door.

  “Well, did you politely ask the door to open?” I ask. “It hurts her feelings when you’re rude to her.”

  Sexy Stranger studies the door carefully and then those amber eyes are back on me. “You’re teasing me,” he announces.

  “I think you should apologize to the door, just in case I’m not.” I smile at him.

  “I’d sing her a love song if she’d just open,” he says with a sigh.

  Ooooh, I’d like to hear that. What I say out loud is, “Our landlord is a little forgetful.” Time flies when you spend all day in your secret underground lair watching episodes of your old show. I glance up at the roof. If Gerald doesn’t clean the solar panels soon, we’re going to start having power outages. I’m not sure Lysee will be able to survive without constant access to a 3D printer.

  The guy crosses his arms over his chest and leans toward me. “Speaking of the landlord, I heard he was The Professor.”

  I admit that I’m only mildly surprised he knows this secret. Gerald enjoys reliving his glory days when he can grab an indulgent ear, but usually he’s not sloppy enough to trust a complete stranger.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell the guy. “The Professor’s series was swiped almost ten years. No devious plots hatching or capes crashing down through the skylight.”

  “What do you think of him?” The man is studying me again. I wish I could tell what he was thinking. His voice is casual, but his eyes settle on me with a heavy intensity.

  “Gerald is pleasant,” I say to him. “Very polite. Loves to throw around big words. Breezy, though. You’ve got to remind him a few times when the sink gets clogged or the solar panels need washing.” What I don’t tell the stranger is that Gerald also seems sad. A little lost, like he stepped into a parallel universe and doesn’t recognize his own life. It’s shining clear that he still hasn’t gotten over the cancelation of his show, even after all this time.

  “Not what he’s like as a landlord,” the man says. “What was he like as a villain?”

  I feel my stomach drop. That question says it all. This guy isn’t just looking for a cheap apartment. He’s playing the Fame Game. Wouldn’t be the first renter who found his way here, hoping to use The Professor for some connections or help grabbing the eyes of sponsors.

  But the mole. The mole! A dark thought hits me. What if the mole is part of his ploy? Perhaps he’s weaponized it, using the mole to pretend he doesn’t care what the world thinks even as he plays the Fame Game as desperately as the rest.

  Crushing disappointment sweeps away all my happy, bubbly feelings. I give the guy another look. He seems hardy, but isn’t packed with muscles. He’ll need to start popping protein packs if he even wants a chance to build a hero Persona. Maybe he’s aiming for villainy. The physical expectations are less strict on that side of the equation. Case in point: The Fat Tubist, who’s built a small but highly loyal following with his avant-garde, musical-themed heists.<
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  “The Professor was the first major vil of Big Little City,” I admit to my ex-crush. I gaze at the mansion, trying to imagine what it must have looked like when it served as the headquarters for the biggest vil in town. Even I watched The Professor’s eps as a girl, mostly because my brother, Alby, hearted everything villain and hero. They never showed the outside of the house in those eps for obvi reasons, but it must have been splendid.

  I look back at the guy. “Audiences don’t want whacky vils anymore. The Professor kept building the same clunky machines, weaving absurd heists. He never even updated his tagline.” I deepen my voice and add a growl. “I’ll break her down to atoms!”

  “Eventually, his show got swiped,” I finish. It happens to almost every cape and vil after a few years. Audiences get bored so fast. Beacon is one of the few exceptions. She’s been here from the beginning, going on Season 16. In fact, she made her name by stopping The Professor during a major train heist. That fight on the top of the BLC Express snagged them both moon-high ratings. They enjoyed the town’s top rivalry for years, but over time viewer appetites changed. Beacon learned to adapt, changing up her costume and sidekicks every few years. The Professor kept pushing the same shtick.

  “After they swiped the show, Gerald retrofitted the mansion. Started renting it out,” I explain to the man. I step a little closer to the front door. The lock syncs with my Band, and the door whooshes open, but I stand in the open entrance, blocking the way.

  “Gerald doesn’t have any good connections anymore, at least not with any of the newer capes and vils,” I say. I keep my voice friendly, but my point is clear. Gerald has always been unfailingly polite to me, and in return I’ll protect him from scavengers if I can.

  The man nods. If he’s disappointed by my news, he hides it well.

  I step through the doorway, leaving the space open for him.

  The guy gives me a small smile. “Thanks. I’m Leo.”

  “Alice.”

  I expect him to offer his hand, but instead, he grabs the handle of a small, rolling suitcase. Unmotorized. The thing is seriously banged up, like falling down the stairs is its personal hobby. All that wear and tear looks real; not like Lysee’s faux distressed suitcase that’s only ever gone to her parents’ house in Chicago.

  I don’t see any other suitcases with him.

  “Not staying long?” I ask. The fourth apartment has been empty for months, and it’d be nice to have a long-term tenant next door.

  Leo shrugs. “I’ve got an Anders 2100 in here.” He pats the bag.

  I pon what kind of guy only has one suitcase worth of stuff that he cares about. Maybe he’s a minimalist. But no, then he wouldn’t own a 3D printer. It’s really none of my business. A lot of people who find their way to Biggie LC are running from something. Usually themselves.

  “Well, thanks, Alice. I owe you one.” Leo gives me that same little smile.

  I don’t know whether he’s just another wannabe vil or hero. Whether he has big dreams of becoming a Persona, or if he just craves the excitement of living in a semi-reality town. Either way, a lot of people get chewed up here. There’s something delicate in Leo’s brown eyes, like he’s standing on a thin ledge. It worries me.

  “Just be careful,” I blurt out. “I mean, you signed the wavier, so you already know, but this town can be dangerous. Look out for stick-up guys. The heroes, they don’t always come to the rescue in time, and when they do, they can be shigits about it.” I hold up my arm to show him the shallow cuts.

  “Try to avoid the bank if you can,” I blabber on as we cross the foyer together. “That place gets heisted once a week. They make you use real American dollars here, but most businesses will convert them to Loons for a small fee. Don’t carry too many dollars with you, cause if you get held up, you might not get the money back. Ignore the cam drones, but if you see a lot of them, that means a fight is going down or something’s getting ready to happen. Get out of there.” I take a breath. “Oh! And you’ll probably get nabbed by a vil at some point. It’s unavoidable.”

  I shudder. “The first year I landed here, I got nabbed by the Vengeful Knight. Ze tied me to the railroad tracks with about twenty other civvies. You just have to go with it when you get grabbed. Don’t fight back. Let the vils and the henchmen do what they’ll do. If you behave, you won’t get hurt. Well, except for Shadow. If you see Shadow, run like hell.”

  I stop and feel a flush hit my cheeks. This guy probably thinks I’m an utter lobotomy.

  Leo is quiet for a moment as we stand in the sitting room, which no one in the house ever uses despite the available comfy chairs and the bookshelves filled with real, physical books.

  I’m considering slinking behind one of the fake potted plants when Leo gives me a short chuckle. “Sounds like quite a town.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Warnings.” He pulls his suitcase after him. “Nice meeting you, Alice.”

  “You too,” I stammer.

  The awkwardness continues when I follow him to the electronic stairs. I let them propel him up a little before I step on, putting space between us.

  What is up with me? Were all those dire warnings supposed to be some painfully inept form of flirting? Fortunately, it seems like Leo didn’t notice. All the better. Leo has a nice look to him, except for the serious intensity in his eyes, but I so don’t have time for a rub right now. Especially not in Biggie LC. Maybe after I’ve earned my master’s degree and can break out of S-8. Then I’ll hunt for all the rubs I can get, and maybe even a romance, too.

  Leo steps off on the second floor. Extra awkwardness as I shuffle off the stairs behind him.

  “Hello, neighbor,” I say. “I’m over there.” I point to the butter yellow door on the right. “My roommate painted that,” I clarify so he knows that I’m not some craze who paints doors bright yellow. Just a craze who’s stalked him through his new home. And because I apparently can’t turn off my mouth, I add, “Well, she had our friend’s service robo paint it. You’re there.” I wave to the gray door on the left.

  It used to be Jed’s place. Nice guy. He was a police officer, which in Biggie LC means he was more like a glorified extra, scurrying about in the background while capes and vils pounded each other. It’s a dangerous job here. Police officers are prime kidnap targets. Three years ago, Hummingbird trapped the entire department in her gluey nest. As for Jed, after his third concussion, the doc bot advised him to get into a different line of work for his own good.

  “So, there you go,” I say to Leo. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around.” My whole face is burning with major shame as I rush toward my yellow door.

  “Alice,” Leo says. I look back. That soft smile is a good look on him. “I’m glad you didn’t get hit by that train,” he says and slips into his apartment. The door slides shut after him. At least Gerald remembered to change that lock.

  My heart goes pitter patter. It’s a pointless feeling, but nice all the same. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve felt a pulse toward a guy. Lysee’s half convinced I’ve gone asexual like so many in our gen.

  Leo, I think pleasantly as I tuck him away carefully in my mind. My door unlocks and opens as I approach, revealing the sight of Betty vacuuming our floor. This increases the chance that Matthew is somewhere in our apartment, though sometimes Lysee steals Betty without asking.

  “Rad horn,” I say to the robo.

  “Why thank you!” Betty pats the unicorn horn jutting out of her forehead. “Matthew gave me new eyes as well.”

  I lean forward and peer into her face as she bats her eyelashes. Yep, her eyes are now entirely green, slitted with golden pupils. Snake eyes.

  “That is certainly… um, something.”

  “Matthew says that not everyone can appreciate true art,” the robo replies and gives me a wide smile. Betty’s smiles used to creep me out, but I’ve grown used to them. When the X4 service robos came out, everyone hated them. WLE – Worse Launch Ever.
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  Alphabet’s designers tried too hard for realism and got serious uncanny valley instead. The entire line was discontinued after just a few thousand models came out, and the X5s were made purposefully less human. Of course, small supply means the X4s are worth major currency precisely for their weirdness and the discomfort they give people.

  Matthew could easily afford any model robo he wants. The new ones have so many capabilities and act so natural, half the pop is convinced the AI takeover is upon us. The other half are going drooly in their desperation to have one.

  Matthew, however, sticks with Betty. She’s been his companion robo since his first mental breakdown. All I know about that part of his life is that he blames pretty much every problem he’s ever faced on his dad — or, more precisely, on The Professor.

  I plop down on the couch, and my Band automatically connects with Lysee’s speaker and Pod holo-projector. The wall dances with curated Stream suggestions, slideshow updates, local cape selfies, vids from my friends, and some low-priced 3D print schematic that is either a very revealing top or a bra.

  “Lysee uploaded 42 new pics today,” Bob announces as his cheerless face appears on the screen. “K-pop band Gruncy released their new single, ‘McCheesy, Breezey, Leezy Life.’ CNN reports that the Phoenix is maintaining its projected flight path and is predicted to reach Mars in 51 days…”

  “Stream off,” I say and wish again that I could set off as the default option. Mom says that Bands used to work that way when they first came out. What a dream. Of course, before the biggest social media and data companies merged and created the Compendium, it used to be the Wild West online. Grandma Rosario told me she belonged to a dozen social networks when she was a kid, including ones called Snapchat and WhatsApp. The Compendium crushed or purchased them all, melding the pieces into a singular mode of gathering, sharing, and absorbing information. The Stream.

  Here’s a joke that’s not really a joke: The Stream knows more about you than you.

  Grandma Rosario never trusted the Stream, especially when the Totems came along, but for the next gens, it’s all we’ve ever known.