Cyan light rose from the black beneath my feet. Unnervingly cold, almost thoughtful in its glow. I fanned my fingers and called sparks between them. Nervous habits.

I followed instincts and electroreception. Darkwitt was known for never being as he seems, but I could always tell the difference between him and a hologram. 

There were several brain patterns in the building. More than one with the ghostly emanation of a holographic current around them. Only one befitting a mastermind. I slipped through the door, silent.

“I suppose there’s no sense in hiding from you,” a deep, rich voice said from the darkness, flowing like molten dark chocolate. I shivered. Darkwitt’s brainwaves took a few steps to the right. I followed suit, staying right in front of him. 

“No,” I agreed. 

He paused for a moment, considering something as he scratched his chin. He took a few steps back, one to the left. I chased his steps, unwilling to let the distance between us change, to give him an opening, but too nervous to strike first. His holographic outline flickered into life, and so did the roaring current across my shiny black-and-white skin.

“Hydrazor,” he said, as if it should be obvious.

“That’s pointless, you already admitted.” I concealed my shaking hand with lightning’s glow. My sparks were weaker, somehow. I just pushed myself further to cover it up. Chalk it up to nerves.

Floating neon light smirked. “I’m just being polite. Even with you knowing exactly where I am, it would be rather inconvenient for you to have to gauge when I’m about to talk based on the current of my brain. So,” he gave a patronizing bow, “I offer my welcome to my humble abode.”

I said nothing, redoubling my electricity to keep my fear from showing. I refused to fade in front of him.

 His brows furrowed. “You have potential.”

I said nothing. I pushed my lightning to glow brighter.

“I have been known to have whims. You have potential. Talk to me, and I may spare the populace for my interest in you.”

“You won’t get away with this,” I said creatively.

He gestured to go on with his hand.

I covered my nerves with a mask of anger. “I shorted the implants in the city council’s brains.”

Neon silhouette paused unnaturally for a moment, his face a mask. Then he put his thumb and middle finger to his temples, massaging, and gave a sigh. “Those are expensive.”

The ground settled beneath my feet. I smirked. “And delicate, I know. Don’t worry, the council’s fine.” I concentrated current into a meaningful scalpel of plasma. Shorter than normal, but he’d get the message.

Glowing, ghostly light nodded in the air. “I see.” Then Darkwitt snapped.

Too late, I felt bioelectricity as two rubbered tails wrapped around me. “We’ve been expecting you, Hydrazor,” Darkwitt said. My heart dropped.

I tried to call forth lightning to scorch rubber and zap muscle, but I could barely get out a few sparks. I tried to snarl, but coils wrapped around my face to silence me. I struggled, glaring daggers at Darkwitt. 

Neon smirks somehow look even more smug than normal ones. “As I said, you have potential. I’m certain the city appreciates you sacrificing yourself to keep the city safe for just one more night. Jadir. Sathe.”

FUCK. I tried to scream, bite, anything, but I couldn’t escape their coils. Forced down, even now feeling their coils starting to rub and massage at the bulge of my latex suit. Pleasure to crumble resistance. I shivered in fear.

A coil wrapped itself around my neck. “Little shark likessss to be kept on a tight leash,” Jadir’s voice teased.

Shivers became a quake. How did he know about that? 

“But do they appreciate you?” Hard-soled footsteps approached. Darkwitt straightened his tie. “They don’t grace you with fame, or glory, or merchandise.” He sneered. “They don’t even honor you in their porn. That’s irritated me as well. Every boring superhero’s done three scenes themselves, but someone interesting comes along and apparently if you want someone done right, you have to do it yourself.”

I fought hard against the strange pride welling in my chest.

A small smile. Darkwitt was clearly plotting something, he always was, but he wasn’t wrong. I wound up feeling underappreciated. Somehow, it was like the populace had decided that my job out of many would be thankless.

“I appreciate you.” Darkwitt cupped my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. “You’ve certainly made my conquest more interesting. The city council never left my control. Their implants have backup circuitry developed just for you. I developed a new kind of hyperinsulative rubber for my drones just to keep you from decimating them in every encounter. You’re a worthy adversary, and worthy of my time.”

I felt like I was glowing with pride. No one ever talked about me like that. Like I was worth respecting, or looking out for. I was always mentioned after flight, super strength, and eyebeams all had their fun. ‘Scrappy,’ they had termed me.

“Let me show you something.” Darkwitt snapped, and black-and-white mechanically approached from the darkness.

I let out a muffled scream as Axxel, my  erstwhile lover, my bedmate, my friend stood before me, blank as a robot. 

“He’s been under my control. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed your time with him. But now: Jadir, Sathe.” Darkwitt gestured with a flourish.

I reeled, speechless if I was even able to talk. I tried to look away, but Sathe closed like a curtain over my vision. My bones rung with the Jadir’s insidious hum. 

You are released from your duties, hero. You need no longer serve the people. You need only serve the one. 

Darkwitt’s voice rung from inside my own head. ‘Hey, w-wait, stop...’ I wanted to beg, but I couldn’t. The fight slowly drained out of me.

The hard sole of a dress shoe pressed against my cock, rubbing it.

“Who are you, really?” said Jadir, with his hand on the back of my head. The nagas whispered to me about self. About identity. How everything we are is a mask that can be taken off at any time, with a little help. That there’s no need for me to carry the weight of my own identity.

I nodded. I couldn’t help but nod. And then the pleasure of obedience, the relief of becoming nobody, the sensation of being stepped on all collected as one and my back arched and I came until everything went black.

These days, there’s a new villain around. One of Darkwitt’s minions. A shark named Brainwave, muscular body hated by a scant leather uniform: Jockstrap, boots, harness, gloves, and a leather cap pulled over his eyes. He’s a sex icon. Even heroes declare that he wouldn’t mind feeling his hand on their skull, rewriting their brains by manipulating bioelectricity. 

At least, that was what the papers said. Darkwitt just gave an inscrutable smile to an experimental circuit in the floor of the room designed to drain the energy of the superpowered. With a little guidance, Hydrazor had stood right atop it and stayed, politely talking until he was powerless. 

Darkwitt’s hand gripped the finned head sucking his cock. Brainwave had always been his puppet. He’d just needed some help realizing it.