Work Text:
It was a pretty good gig, all things considered.
Some supervillains demanded a lot of overtime with shit pay. And when you couldn’t unionize and weren’t allowed to quit, well there wasn’t much you could do about it was there? Though why those villain overlords thought their subordinates would do more than the bare minimum probably had a lot to do with their overinflated egos. Seriously, no one actually ever wanted to put their life on the line for someone who overworked and underpayed them.
Luckily, Goldennose seemed to have the opposite philosophy. He seemed to prefer hiring endless lines of security just for the aesthetic symmetry of it or some shit. His concrete bunker was actually ridiculously secure, so there was little chance of danger in the first place, let alone the potentially fatal kind. And most importantly, he supported a good work/life balance and made sure that everyone could clock out on time, with only the rare all-nighter. And with the endless hordes of staff, it was generally pretty easy to find someone to switch shifts or cover for you if you were sick. Heck, there was even paid sick time in the first place! The base pay wasn’t too bad either. Honestly, it was kind of prime dealings as far as henchmen gigs go.
That wasn’t to say that Goldennose wasn’t weird though, ‘cause he definitely was. And yeah, maybe that was just part and parcel in the supervillain business, but it was certainly not the kind of weird he had heard other grunts complain about from their evil overlords. You know, the cooing over a tank of piranhas, or bursting into maniacal laughter at random intervals, or talking about themself in the third person. No, Goldennose just required all his henchmen to dance.
Seriously, it was part of the interview process to show you could walk and clap in rhythm, with a bonus if you could do a passable pirouette.
Honestly, at first it seemed like one of those parallel skill training things – like having football players do ballet to practice their footwork. Keeping good rhythm could be a necessary skill for having squads march in formation or something.
But no, Goldnennose just liked to dance when the mood struck him. And of course he needed backup dancers. Given the security of the bunker, they probably did more dance routines or standing around waiting to dance than actual serving and protecting. (Which might be why the sick time was so flexible – can’t dance with a twisted ankle or sing with a chest cold.) Even when they were doing semi-normal henchmen things, like carrying around mysterious pieces of lab equipment, they were still expected to march in time and possibly even still sing.
But hey, the pay was good and the life expectancy was high, so why complain? Plus, if you did a good job you might get promoted to dance captain for your line.
Except then it got weirder, and it all centered around the most normal thing Goldennose had going for him in his supervillain-ness. Yes, he had the crazy machines and the mad science and the ridiculously elaborate torture devices, but he also had a nemesis – practically a supervillain requirement. The guy looked like some sort of British spy maybe. Anyway, the supervillain vs superspy games were perfectly normal and kept the boss in a good mood. And being maybe-British, the spy guy was pretty polite for his type, and avoided shooting or maiming any of the henchmen he encountered whenever he did manage to sneak inside the bunker.
When Goldennose finally captured his nemesis for good and strapped him into his giant death ray, everyone was sure that was it. Sure, he’d probably mope for a bit until he got a new nemesis lined up, but surely enacting some fiendish plans unimpeded would make up for it. Plus, there were always new, young hotshots lining up to find a personal villain nemesis. (He’d heard from a different grunt that his evil boss was a serial nemesis, searching out a new, one-true nemesis every year or so.)
So when the moment came, and Goldennose had his hand hovering above that big, red button, everyone held their breath in anticipation. (Would Goldennose start moping immediately, or would they get to throw a party first for the successful vanquishing? They did get great parties whenever new superweapons were launched – Goldennose even always ordered the good cake.)
Instead, their boss let the guy go. And, okay, well, that was a little weird, but he’d heard of other villains doing that too. Either to taunt their nemeses further or because a lot of them were more excited by the chase than by the end result. So yeah, okay, Goldennose let the spy go and they’d resume the cat and mouse games. It wasn’t even strange for this all to happen during a dance number – this was still Goldennose after all.
But then, the superspy, instead of escaping or trying to blow up the lair like a normal nemesis, started dancing back – back towards Goldennose. And then they were dancing together, first in hold, then side-by-side. There was even a lift.
What was even happening anymore?
This was probably where good training kicked in, since everyone just went along with it and did their part, tapping or marching along in rhythm. No one even gave each other a side-eye for the unexpected scene unfurling in the center of the bunker. (Unsurprisingly, the superspy had received good dance training and was more than keeping up with Goldennose.)
Since then, nothing’s really been the same. It wasn’t even the sort of thing you could commiserate about with other goons serving elsewhere. Not sure if it was embarrassing or just no one else would believe you, but it kinda made all of the henchmen still serving Goldennose grow closer, like a kind of shared trauma, but reversed. After all, they were all still getting paid to come into work each day. To watch Goldennose and his superspy nemesis dance around the room together as they all tapped and marched in the background. Sometimes the two nemeses even left together in the same car after they clocked out at the end of the day. Not sure if any evil plans were even being enacted anymore – this was all probably some sort of weird foreplay for the two of them.
At least the pay was still good, the hours secure, and the life expectancy was probably even longer now. Maybe he’d ask Kelsey, three places down in his line, if he’d be up for a little roleplay of their own?