Chapter Text
Chapter One
“SCREW YOU, BLUE MORPHO!"
Another bullet ricocheted off the edge of the dumpster, and the two men hiding behind it ducked. One was The Blue Morpho, vigilante and current bane of organized villainy in the Tri-State area. Beside him was his compact but powerful bodyguard and chauffeur, Kano.
In reality, The Blue Morpho and Kano were really The Mighty Monarch and his henchman, Twenty-One. By day, they themselves were super-villains, sworn to arch protagonist Dr. Rusty Venture. But due to some 'bureaucratic horseshit', as Monarch eloquently described it, they were currently grounded… until they could remove all the other super-villains ahead of them to arch Venture.
Which had led to their current position hiding behind a dumpster in a deserted warehouse while their adversary fired on them. They were in the process of trying to convince the Level Ten EMA sharp-shooter super-villain, Crosshair, to give up his arching rights, close up shop, and leave town.
"Dude!" Kano called, "We just want to talk to you!"
"YEAH, LIKE YOU TALKED TO MAESTROWAVE?" Another pair of bullets bounced off the heavy steel container with twin *PINGS*! "TALK ME TO DEATH, MORE LIKE IT!"
Monarch looked pointedly over at his companion.
"Don't give me that look," Twenty-One hissed at his boss. "What happened with Maestrowave was NOT my fault."
"Whatever, GARY," the red-haired man replied. "So what are we supposed to do, here? Wait him out? Hope he runs out of ammo?"
"I don't know," Twenty-One muttered, "Maybe he'll calm down if we just leave him alone for a few minutes."
"Yeah, no, we're not doing that," Monarch said, drawing his dart gun. "I'll go right, you go left. On three, ready? One. Two."
"Oh man," the henchman shook his head, drawing his own gun and moving into position. "Are you sure this is a good—"
"THREE!"
"Shit," Gary muttered as he sprang around the side of the dumpster.
Crosshair was gone. Both men tentatively lowered their dart guns, glancing around for their opponent.
"Where'd he go?" Monarch whispered, peering around the dimly-lit warehouse.
Twenty-One saw movement above on the catwalk a fraction of a second too late.
The shot rang out, and Monarch grunted as blood sprayed from his chest. He started to crumple to the ground, but Gary grabbed him around the chest with one arm and held him up, taking aim at Crosshair with his other hand.
The Morpho dart crossed the space between them and struck the sniper in the neck, just as he was preparing to fire again. With a muffled yelp, he fell backwards over the catwalk railing and plummeted to his death on the concrete below.
"Shit… shit… SHIT…" Heart pounding with worry, Twenty-One scooped up Monarch and carried him over to a nearby work table, where he laid the vigilante out. His hands shook as he cradled the older man's face, leaning close to see if he was breathing. Next, he pulled open the bloodstained blue trench coat and suit jacket, trying to see how bad the wound was.
"Oof… what happened?" Monarch groaned, opening his eyes and looking up at his bodyguard in confusion, "Gaaawwwd, my chest KILLS!"
"You've been shot, boss," Gary said grimly, "Lie still, now…. I gotta stop the bleeding."
"Bleeding?" the older man muttered, trying to lift his head as his partner loosened his green necktie and fussed with his shirt buttons, "It feels like someone punched me, but—"
"The Kevlar failed," Gary said regretfully, "I knew I should've had Enzo reinforce it the last time he made repairs." He carefully peeled the shirt away from Monarch's left pectoral, and used the sleeve of his chauffeur jacket to wipe away the blood. Then he stopped, and just stared.
"What?" Monarch asked, anxiously, "Is it bad?"
"There's no wound!" the big man exclaimed. He looked closer at the blue shirt, "There's no HOLE…. What the hell… I SAW you get shot!"
Monarch pawed at his chest, wincing. "It hurts," he said, "But not THAT much."
"What's that smell?" Twenty-One suddenly said, sniffing. "Is that… is that cherry?" He leaned closer, sniffing at the stained shirt and jacket.
"Oh!" Monarch said, after a confused pause. He reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, squat, teardrop-shaped plastic bottle, now ruptured and dripping red fluid.
"What is that?" Gary demanded.
"It's my MiO," Monarch replied, grinning. "That dude shot me right in the MiO." He chuckled as he handed the ruined bottle to Twenty-One.
The Kevlar had stopped the bullet, after all, but the little bottle of beverage concentrate had exploded with the impact, spraying its dark red contents all over Monarch's suit.
"Jesus!" Gary said, holding a hand over his own heart, "I swear, I thought you were DONE this time."
"Sorry," the older man replied with a shrug, sitting up with his bodyguard's help. "Dr. Mrs. bought me a whole case of the stuff… said I need the vitamins… something about me being too pale."
"Holy Hell," Twenty-One muttered as he took Monarch's arm across his shoulders, supporting him as they headed for the exit, "Let's go home, dude. We need to get some ice on that; you're gonna bruise like crazy."
"Gotta stop at Enzo's on the way home and get my suit cleaned," Monarch replied.
"MiO… unbe-freaking-lievable… almost gave me a stroke…" Gary continued to grumble, but with a smile, now.
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