A Villains' Society

"Any people you met in jail who would be reasonable to break out?" she suggested. "I guess we could start there..."

Iron Fang shook his head. "No, no. Every one in prison was a moron," he said. "All gang members and drug addicts. No style. ...uhn. I don't like talking about prison, actually. Don't bring it up anymore."

"Oh, alright." She looked a bit concerned.

She thought for a while then finally gave up. "I've got nothing. I don't think some random person with tights on is going to come knocking on the fortress's door..."

He sighed. "No, probably not," said Iron Fang deflatedly. He stood up. "Well, come on then. Why don't I give you a tour of the Fortress?"

She stood up without objection and smiled, "Alright."

"This," he said, motioning around them. "Is the main room. The outside walls are three feet of solid brick."

He pointed to the back wall, which had two iron doors, indicating one of them with a thin finger. "That leads to a stairwell which, in turn, leads upwards to the living quarters. But that one--" He point to the other door. "--Is where the real fun is. It goes down. Come on, doll, and let me show you."

He walked to the door and pushed it open. It resisited at first and, with a screeching argument from its rusty hinges, swung inward slowly. The room beyond was dark and, if it were possible, the air was even more stagnant and dead. Iron Fang chuckled as he disappeared into the darkness, seemingly giddy about whatever was within.

The Crimson Witch hesitated but followed him anyway.

Does he just like sewers or is there something else down here I should be worried about? She continued to follow him, uncertain if it was a good idea to or not. She couldn't just turn around a run away, how could she do that?

The floor sloped down and, as they went through the darkness, the air became more and more rank, smelling of decaying flesh. Eventually, the floor leveled out and--from the sound of their footsteps--it seemed no longer to be made of stone but, rather, metal. Iron Fang hit a switch and the oppressive darkness was driven away as--above them--lines of fluerescent lights hissed to life.

They were on a metal catwalk suspended in the middle of a cavernous room. Iron Fang, grinning like a madman, gestured grandly to the room below them.

On long wall was linned with all manner of knife, from little penknives, to enormous serated blades, all arranged neatly by size, and coated in the grime of four years. The wall adjacent to it held a large, arching door way which led into more darkness and--as evidenced by the sound of rushing water--the sewers. Opposite it, against the wall, were a few older computers, and a number of screen which reared to life with an electric hiss. They were connected to cameras through out the city, it appeared; cameras hidden in bushes and on roof tops and inside light posts. Some of the screens just showed electric snow, their corresponding cameras having been smashed or disconnected while Gorski was away.

It was the final wall where the smell was coming from. A number of rotting corpses were lined up against it, in a sitting position, their feet out, and their hands on their laps, tied. Their empty eye sockets gazed up at the villains on the catwalk, their slack jaws open wide, as if they were screaming without sound.

The Crimson Witch didn't seem bothered by the smell nor the decayed corpses, she was to amazed by the knives. She walked up to the wall and touched the sharp edge of a medium sized knife. "Sharp." she whispered to herself.

The Crimson Witch looked around some more, "So this is where you were.." She smiled, "Saw your face on the news, heard of your crimes, but none of the cops could find the bodies." She looked over at the corpses, "And there they are." She was speaking strangely slow, as if the astonishment from the place shocked her.

"I definitely like this room better."

"These are only some of the bodies," said Iron Fang, looking down on them fondly. He descended from the catwalk via a ladder leading down. "The others are scattered buried elsewhere, or else I dumped them in the river, or out in the mountains, or else I just left them there at the scene of the crime. Oh, the cops were perplexed at how many people went missing when I was killin' them. Fuck, if they knew I'd done all of it, I don't think they'd even have believed it was just one man. I only got tried for six murders, you know? Six was just a drop in the ocean."

He knelt down beside one of the corpses, and put his hand on its rotting cheek. It was impossible to tell if it had been a man or a woman. "From time to time, I'd use the cameras over there to pick out a victim, and then I'd find them, and I'd abduct them, and I'd bring them here through the sewers. Bound, gagged, heavily drugged. They'd bargain for their life, and they'd plead and threaten. I'd let them think that there was a shred of hope that they might live... And then I'd slit their throats and watch the life drain from their eyes. I never took the corpses out afterward. I think that they're beautiful like this..."

"Beautiful?" she repeated. "If I slit my throat would I be beautiful to you?" She laughed. She sat by one of the corpses and patted it on the head. It still had long hair on it, signaling it was a woman. Or maybe a very feminine male?

"If you did it? No," said Iron Fang. He looked at the Crimson Witch sharply. "Don't touch her."

He straightened up, and turned his attention to the screens. "These are trained on manholes throughout the city. Virtually everywhere the sewers come up, I have an eye on it... It looks like some of my eyes have been poked out, but no matter. They will be replaced soon enough. We need to recruit until then. But first, we need... a name. A good one. A blood-curddling one."

She rolled her eyes and stood up. Making sure she was away from the corpse, she took a step away just incase. "Touchy..." she muttered.

She turned towards the screen trying to pay attention.

"How about the Syndicate of Murderers?" said Iron Fang, motioning wide with one hand as he said the name. "That'll put some fear in this city, eh?" He smiled at his video screens, at the quiet, dark streets of Aurora City.

"Sounds great." she said, barely listening.

He was so much more serious than her, she just wanted to commit crimes not figure out names. The word 'inpatient' described her well. "Syndicate of Murderers... Syndicate of Murderers... Syndicate of Murderers..." she hummed to herself.

She was bored so she kept quietly humming and started to mess with her gloves.

Iron Fang grimaced and wheeled on her. "Stop repeating it. It doesn't sound as good when you repeat it like that," he growled. He put his hands on his hips and headed back toward the ladder to the catwalk. "That's enough down here. Come on."

"Yes sir!" She saluted and started to follow him.

She grinned at her achievement of making him throughly irritated. Her way of flirting maybe? Who knows...

When he got up onto the catwalk, he hit a switch on the railing, extinguishing the lights and killing the monitors on the wall. Faintly, the light from the main room above them was visible, glinting off of Iron Fang's vast collection of knives. Silently, he made his way toward the door.

She continued to follow him, she felt a bit uncomfortable being in the dark with a serial killer. She trusted him though so she kept walking. She could see the light of the floor above faintly which made her feel a bit less nervous.

Iron Fang slid through the gap in the open door, back into the main area. "We need to get this place cleaned up," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "Have any ideas about that, doll? That's what you women like to do, isn't it? Fix up rooms, make them look good?"

The Crimson Witch smirked, "Maybe some women like to make things clean. I'm a lazy ass woman Fang. I don't even clean up my murders."

She walked over to a stool and sat down then looked up at him, "If you have any ideas, Fang, please don't hesitate to share."

She was still trying to figure out the name of the old bomb manufacturer she used to work with. It was bothering her extremely.

Iron Fang frowned. "Yes, lazy," he murmured. After a moment, his face brightened. "Ah--I just remembered. I heard some guys back in prison talking about this terrorist they'd known. He was from the Soviet Union. You know, back when it was the Soviet Union. Called him the curtain. I should see if I can get in touch with him... But it's supposed to be hard to do."

"Ehh? Curtain?" The Crimson Witch made a weird face, "Hm, never heard of him. Strange really, I knew so many bomb manufacturers when I was a assassin. " She smiled smugly, "I can also get in touch with an old friend of mine. He was good at making one of a kind snipers and such. I'm sure I haven't lost my skill with snipers. Killing off some crusaders would be fun." Everything was falling into place.

"Bombs and weapons. Soon the news will be buzzing about the Syndicate of Murderers."

"Not just the news, doll. And it's not about the news, any how," said Iron Fang, tilting back his head and grinning wide. The flickering light made his eyes gleam like something otherworldly. "No, no, no, no. It's about the people. The fear. They'll look over their shoulders when they walk the streets at night, and they'll wake up from nightmares where we are the stars and they'll check to make sure they locked their doors and windows, even if it's the fifth time they've checked. And they'll never feel safe again. And how could they? There might be a bomb under that park bench, or a sniper on the roof over looking that cafe, or a killer with razor sharp claws just beyond that street lamp. Any where there's darkness, or silence, or lonliness, they'll be afraid. Hell--even where there's not..."

He let out a long, slow breath. "That's what it's about, doll."

"Hmm..." She thought for a moment and finally spoke. "Publicity will add to the fear. Makes people know who we are." She loved publicity and attention. She couldn't get her mind off it. To be famous. Even if it was for something awful. To be infamous is a better word for what she wanted.