Strange Times

Somewhere in a poorly lit basement or other clichéd den of villainy, someone was hastily putting together a memo on why it was a horrific idea to go after the Mastermind when he was in a good mood.



There was a difference between the adrenaline and motivation behind an inevitable conflict and that of a hunter deciding to play with its food. Schuldich wasn’t working, so Schuldich had the liberty to be at play.



Schuldich was the source-less scuff from somewhere behind, the murmur heard when the head was tilted just so. He was the paranoia of the hunter suddenly turned uncertain prey.



“What was that?”



“Quiet.”



“Point…where is Point?”



Aya stalked through the shadows of narrow streets, unhappy with Schuldich’s telepathic invisibility, but grudgingly appreciative of its effectiveness. And usefulness…those were thoughts for later, when he continued trying to sell the bastard to the team. Now was the time to wait for members of the small team that had been unfortunate enough to decide to tail Schuldich and himself to stray just far enough… Modestly equipped, the five man team looked like mercenaries that had experienced a run of tough luck. Their arms lacked the slick look of well cared for weapons, their armor was almost ragged. Second-hand mercenaries. Hand me down killers. And they had agreed to take on Mastermind and Abyssinian. Aya was almost insulted, would have been insulted on a purely professional level, had he not been very aware of just how deceptive Schuldich’s looks could be. Apart from the edge to his smile, and cold gleam to his eyes, there was very little to Schuldich that howled anything apart from indolent fop; there was very little to suggest the wanton vicious streak that had an unpleasant tendency to make itself known as often as it could get away with.



They had been engaged in a sadly unbalanced game of cat and mouse for the better part of an hour. Schuldich had slaked his irritation on the man they had assigned to scout ahead, leaving a corpse in a nearby doorway that would baffle whoever had the misfortune to stumble across it. No blood, no violence, just a look of agonized despair. There were better ways to die, but Schuldich was enjoying himself too much to try any of them out.



Schuldich walked out of his mental scrim in close enough proximity to get a look of startled terror out of one man. Schuldich smiled, lounging with apparent indolence against a light post. “Are you lost?”



“Fuck!” The merc hopped back like some sort of startled pigeon.



“I don’t think so. Didn’t you do your homework? I’m not on the market.”



Aya crept forward, aware he didn’t even need the extra advantage of Schuldich’s telepathy to get the jump on the men in front of him. They were scrambling for weapons, attention fixed on Schuldich, just as the telepath had intended.



“Are you missing someone?” Schuldich tossed a gaudy lighter towards the closest man with an infuriating nonchalance.



“Shit, that was C…” one of the others stammered.



“Shut the hell up.” The first frowned, clutching the lighter. “What did you…”



“You should have heard him cry.” Schuldich smiled.



One of the men lunged forward, murder on his mind, and Schuldich evaded with impossible ease. Aya attacked in a flurry of punched and a couple of well placed kicks, taking full advantage of the distraction. Schuldich had had the gall to laughingly suggest he stay back, disadvantaged and unarmed. Aya landed a particularly vicious kick to an opponent’s knee, damaging the joint beyond functionality.



‘You’re beautiful when you’re out for blood.’



As his opponent went down with an unprofessional howl, Aya rounded on Schuldich, who was busy backing the man unfortunate enough to be the last one standing into a wall.



“Now. Lets see who you belong to…”



The man whimpered, eyes rolling back as Schuldich crawled through his mind. It was a violation on the most basic level, tearing through every secret, every quirk and useful deception with callous irreverence. Schuldich dug through the man’s psyche with the almost absentminded cruelty of a child in a chest of someone else’s toys; not minding what was broken as he searched for something that caught his interest.



“Oh really…” Schuldich breathed, the smile on his face glittering with malice.



It was gunfire that pulled Aya’s attention away from Schuldich’s expression, Schuldich’s startled grunt as the bullet made contact.



Aya’s last victim hadn’t remained as cowed and stunned as Aya had originally though him to be. As the man took shaky aim for another shot Aya kicked him back down, rolled him onto his back, and crushed his windpipe with one well placed stomp.



Schuldich winced, force-fed the sensation and realization of being shot into his victim until the man convulsed, and then dropped the twitching man with something close to disgust.



“I hate bleeding.”



“You’re in the wrong line of work.” Aya snarled, pulling off his shirt and wadding into a suitable pressure bandage.



“Wasn’t this fun?” Schuldich aimed a leer at Aya’s bare chest.



“Next time we’re staying in and renting a movie.”



“Wait until we get to the talking part, after we finish the patching up. You will love the story I have for you.”



“Somehow I doubt love is the word I would use.” Aya pressed his shirt against Schuldich’s side, perversely happy to see the red start to seep into and ruin the material. There went the only part of his wardrobe Schuldich had deemed club worthy.



“Wait for it.”



“Make yourself useful and call in some backup.”