9 comments/ 42253 views/ 45 favorites And Soon My Evil Plan... Ch. 01 By: Stultus And Soon my Evil Plan will be Complete! Chapter 01 * Synopsis: It's not an easy life being an Evil Mad Scientist (tm), but it has its moments... especially when your arch nemesis the beautiful Super-Heroine finds herself helpless in your power. Mwuahahaha! Sometimes though, there are more interesting things in life than becoming an omnipotent Evil Overlord... and rescuing a lovely damsel in distress does have some definite rewards. A screwy tale of super-romance. Sex contents: Some Sex Genre: Humor/Romance Codes: Science Fiction, Superhero, Humor, Slow ********* It's never a good day when BetaGirl shows up on your front door step. It gets worse usually when she just knocks a hole through the roof and plants herself sternly in front of your desk in your innermost sanctum sanctorium. She cracked her knuckles and started to tap her right toe in anticipation of performing some bodily harm upon my august personage. The glare she gave me was certainly world class – and well worthy of the world's famous and renown super-heroine. I suppose it was warranted. After all, according to the tabloids I was Public Enemy #1 and an insane super-villain bent upon either global anarchy or some fiendish plot to become the greatest evil overlord since Genghis Khan. Absolute nonsense of course. No one in their right mind would want to be an Evil Overlord ™ anyway. The hours are bad, the pay is irregular and the most beautiful maidens in your kingdom are either crazier than you are or will fall in love with your archenemy and plot your downfall. Also, it's nearly impossible to get good qualified Minions of Evil ™ anymore. You certainly can't find any good ones on either Monster.com or Craigslist. I gave up the idea a long time ago… besides, I like sleeping in late. A few years ago I tried to grow a really evil looking beard, but it really just made me look Emo, so I shaved it off. Spock and Vincent Price could pull it off, but these are sadder and wussier times. Even my best David Nivenesque disarming smile didn't do a thing to put her at ease and she marched up to me with barely controlled fury. I couldn't think of anything specific that I'd done recently to piss her off. Except of course: - Sending the plague of WALL-E robots to dismantle General Motors corporate headquarters building. Sorry, but it looked like junk to me, and they'd really ticked me off. - Perhaps it was the misunderstanding concerning that global television broadcast that showed the Prime Minster of Japan sodomizing the CEO of Honda in full leather fetish gear, on all channels (photoshopped of course, but by professionals). - Unleashing the FemBots, designed to look like members of the Brady Bunch and the Osmond and Partridge families, to terrorize and shut down all broadcasting operations at CNN, FOX, NBC & the BBC for nearly a week had certainly annoyed the powers that be. CBS and ABC had already broadcast retractions of their various slurs to my good name and character in the nick of time, and PBS was still trying to get me to appear on an episode of Frontline and avoided the story entirely. Being called an "insane madman" on worldwide television just gets right up my nose and makes me really annoyed! - Then of course there was the trivially minor matter of the rogue giant Buckyball that seized and engulfed the entire Board of Directors of General Electric and bounced them to a specially prepared desert island I'd carefully cultivated with rabid wombats and specimens of Hallucigenia sparsa. - Concerning the relatively unimportant matter of the Director of the Department of Energy becoming permanently affixed to his office toilet seat by a bizarre mutant strain of flesh eating bacteria that continually excretes superglue, this was merely a slight misunderstanding… I had been actually trying for his Deputy Director, the guy who actually did 95% of the real work – and the gentleman who seemed the most upset by my various discoveries. - I do admit that sending the horde of bio-engineered flying monkeys to invade the White House during a formal state dinner for the Queen of England might have been a tad bit overdone. The part where they spray painted all over the walls and called the President a poopy-head was fine, but they exhibited a bit too much enthusiasm with the dung throwing part of program. The Queen of England, an unfortunate target of collateral damage, sent me a rather stern note, and I had to locate an extremely rare piece of Irish Balleek china to send for an apology gift that wasn't already in the Royal collection to soothe her ruffled nerves. I didn't feel like dealing with MI-5 this week; those chaps are absolutely humorless. So much for what I'd been up to the last two weeks or so. I could go on with a few highlights from last month, but you get the idea. I'd really been pretty much a good boy lately and really didn't see the need for one of Earth's only two legitimate "A" level Superheroes to come busting into my hidden fortress and start hassling me. Unless she also had a chunk of stock or her 401k retirement plan in eBay. Those new DSR changes really screwed up my Powerseller account, and I, in return, have been devoting my more recent efforts into painstakingly destroying their stock value painfully and slowly, until soon they'll become a penny stock! Ha! BetaGirl is a good looking young thing. Honey blonde hair and good tits with a firm tight ass that her clinging spandex costume just barely restrains while holding all of the rest of her goodies into place. She doesn't look a day over mid-twenties which is remarkable since she's been in the super-heroine business alone for well over thirty years. What a waste of a very nice looking piece of ass though, she's in love with her work and proudly admits that she's much too busy for a boyfriend. The National Enquirer has a standing million dollar reward for any photo showing her in any sort of romantic embrace with a man, or any woman for that matter. The Weekly World News maintains she's in a love triangle with a space alien and Bat Boy, but those pics make even FARK photoshops look believable in comparison. I wondered if she was even more socially awkward than I am. Maybe this was just her way of wanting to ask me out on a date? Today however, she was certainly not in the mood for any romantic dalliance, or at least not with me. Dusting the debris from my ceiling off of her magnificent spandex covered breasts, she stopped for a one-liner or two. Something along the lines of "Desist! Foul miscreant your reign of evil is now at an end!" Yawn. The flourish of her cape while she denounced me was a very nice touch I do admit. I wonder how long she had practiced that move in the mirror. I blinked a few times politely at her and then suggested that she try the next door down the hall for that particular miscreant in question, but that he might be out to lunch, so then she'd have to either wait or try back after 1:30. Me? I'm just the janitor… never mind the big office with the fancy desk and the bank of very large computers right behind me. BetaGirl might be blonde but she's not stupid. Reaching across my desk she grabbed me by the throat and lifted me a good five inches off of the ground. A pretty neat trick since she's barely 5'8" and I'm a good 6'3". I think she cheated and hovered off the ground a little bit, but I was too busy being strangled to appreciate how the feat was done. "Wicked Worm! Where's the master shut-off switch to shut down your insidious engines of inequitable evil?" She actually said a good bit more, using other words that I'd never heard of in over 12 years of college while gaining six Doctorates. None of them were in English, however, but she probably just made the words up anyway to sound more threatening. She had her hands around my windpipe a bit too firmly for me to reply, but I glanced over towards a large blinking machine with lots of fancy flashing lights and a large red button, marked in cheerful day glow letters "Danger – Do Not Push!" This seemed to satisfy her and she tossed me aside like a ragdoll for a moment to commence the shutdown of my computer systems by pressing that button. This action did indeed shut down nearly all of the machinery in the room… and also released an invisible cloud of paralytic nerve toxin that I am immunized against. My 'real' emergency shutdown button is in my "command center" in the basement, behind a door marked "sewage valves", accessible through an always unlocked janitor's broom closet. I have a laptop computer down there that can directly connect with secure Administrators rights, but I can usually perform nearly everything just as well from my bio-implant connection inside my skull to my real master control center, which is under a glacier in northern Greenland. I'll be honest with you; I didn't really have any contingency plans made for this particular moment in time. Over confidence I guess – when you're in the Evil Overlord business you never think that bad things will happen to you. Having adventures certainly will make you late for supper! Checking to make sure that BetaGirl was very much incapacitated, I grudgingly gave the order to evacuate the site but really there really wasn't too much in the way of last minute stuff to grab. I keep nearly all of my research work on my computer so I really just had to grab a few important and/or expensive pieces of equipment. I only have about ten full-time employees (i.e. evil henchmen), and they'd do fine getting out by themselves in one of the escape pods to my primary backup headquarters. Besides, having to perform an emergency escape gains them an immediate week of paid travel time/vacation… it's in their contract. All my secret escape pods come standard with a Corinthian leather interior, dual climate zone comfort system, satellite TV including the Spice channel, an AM/FM/CD/DVD player, an emergency small arms cache, first aid kit, foreign language phrase book, $1000 each in dollars, pounds, yen and gold, a small but decent wine selection, a box of Hershey chocolate bars, and a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. A fellow could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all of that stuff! Loyal service should be rewarded... which is how it becomes "loyal" service in the first place. Never shoot the messenger or take your frustration out on the flunkeys; honest messengers and good employees are hard to come by when you are in the Evil Overlord business. This had been my main headquarters, on this remote island off the coast of Maine, but I had several other alternates already constructed and waiting for stand-by use. Never build just one of anything… I have nearly identical back-up island retreats off of the coast of Oregon, North Carolina, Cuba, Haiti and the Bahama's, not to mention a few mountain retreats in Arizona, Peru and the Himalayas. I guess it's time to start building next on that small island off of the coast of Turkey now as well. It didn't take me long to grab the two or three essential things that I didn't want to live without and toss them into my own escape pod. At the last minute, I decided to bring BetaGirl along with me. Oh, she would have been unhurt when my underground base went kaboom into rubble, but it just didn't seem 'polite' to do that to her. Besides, my conversational skills with women were a bit rusty and this would be good social exercise for me. Normally, this particular paralytic agent would only work for up to ten hours or so, and I figured BetaGirl, being what she was, could probably fight clear of it in just an hour or two. Fortunately, I had a few other fun pharmacological goodies that I could make her drink that would prolong her stupor long enough to have a pleasant and delightful weekend with her, albeit without a lot of actual conversation. No! I most certainly not did not perform any 'outrages' or take any familiarities with her near helpless and delectable body! Just what sort of villain do you take me for? Simply because I am evil does not mean I am wasteful, and it's wasteful to kill or molest prime Grade-A dalliance material. After all, I might have some use for her at some point. Besides, gloating over captives is really overrated. I get lots of marriage offers regularly in my email. Probably from the same sort of odd and weirdly fucked up women that correspond regularly with serial murderers in prison. There are, after all, hordes of beautiful young women out there just waiting to marry someone as rich and powerful as I am. I will not, under any circumstances, marry a woman I know to be a faithless, conniving, back-stabbing witch simply because I am absolutely desperate to perpetuate my family line. Of course, we can still date and bump uglies occasionally. I think now that I should have stopped for awhile after my second PhD, and gone to a few spring breaks and gotten laid instead. However, since I was only about twelve at the time I'm not sure how much success I would have had at the frat keggers. Still it would have been educational. It was too early for Spring Break on some nice sunny beach, but there was still good late season skiing up at Whistler, so we went up there for a long weekend of zombie snow bunny fun. I had to admit it was a lot of fun to put her on skis and push her down a mountain. Ok, she hit a lot of trees… hard and fast, and went over a cliff or two, but it wasn't as if she could feel it. And she looked as if she needed the fresh air anyway. I took a lot of videos and posted the better cringe worthy 'Sonny Bono' moments up on YouTube. When we had enough fun in the snow and sun, we went shopping for a nice fine antique Persian rug and I rolled BetaGirl up in it and had her packaged for immediate air express freight shipment back to Washington. I'm not sure if they'd let her keep the rug, I don't know if government employees at her civil service level are allowed to keep gifts. Still, I thought it would be fun to ship her back to the President in the exact same manner that Cleopatra had herself delivered to Julius Caesar in Alexandria. This should have given me at least a month to at least get things organized at my new North Carolina island refuge, but it didn't quite work out as well as I had hoped. About a week later, more or less, BetaGirl reappeared on my doorstep, and in a pretty foul mood to boot. She kicked down the front door this time (normal sized, those silly huge metal fortress doors are too slow to open and close and are a pain to properly install) and every other door in the place until she found me hiding in my janitor's closet. The janitor's uniform and the stage makeup didn't fool her one bit and she just about squeezed my neck so hard that my head nearly popped off. This time, she pressed the correct tiny black button to shut everything down, but still for her troubles she got pricked by a small drugged micro-needle that sent her straight off to sleepy-time land. What a shame… she'd come all prepared this time with fancy nose filters all ready for more poison gas, but a smart Evil Overlord never pulls the same trick twice. There aren't many things that will pierce BetaGirl's virtually invulnerable skin, but I'd discovered a few and made more than a few emergency contingency plans. I chucked her drugged body into an escape pod and make my own final preparations for escape… again. Time to evacuate another citadel of evil. This was starting to get expensive! Most of the staff was still on vacation from the last evacuation, but it was time for everyone to do it all over again anyway. It's a good thing that virtually everything important runs remotely from Greenland, otherwise it would be one heck of a nasty security issue to have all of my inventions and years of research unprotected on these machines. Sure things were going to go boom, but a lot of my better computer stuff is very proprietary and custom built. The only Windows PC's or Apples are strictly for 'bait' purposes and contain highly entertaining but flawed descriptions of my plans for global domination. The joke is on them… only a fool would even want to rule the world, I'll happily settle for being filthy rich instead. Off we went this time to Fort Lauderdale, and we had a lot of fun on the beach re-enacting all of my favorite scenes from the movie "Weekend at Bernie's", posing the stuporic BetaGirl for photos on the beach with lots of booze and half-naked drunk college kids. She was the life of the party at more than one beer bash since she could drink an endless amount of booze without falling down. I thought about sending some of the better shots to the National Enquirer, but settled instead for just posting my holiday pics on my Flicker page instead. I did leave her to detox this time from my zombie drugs in a nice soft king sized bed… also currently occupied by two other young fun loving couples too drunk and stoned to realize that they had company while they were passed out. I admit then that I couldn't resist calling the National Enquirer, People Magazine, and every other tabloid that I could think to report that BetaGirl was "pulling a train" at a certain Ft. Lauderdale sleazy motel room. The smart photographers took their pictures and ran before BetaGirl was coherent enough to start smashing cameras, and photographer noses. For months the tabloids were awash with increasingly sordid and unlikely tales of her recent debauchery. She didn't look at all happy in a news conference later the next week, during which my name was regularly featured, and often with coarse language. Usually in the context of the bodily harm that she would conduct on my august personage the next time we met. I swear the woman has no sense of humor! My next secret fortress of desolation was a remote site in the wilderness of Arizona and I actually had a few months of peace and quiet before BetaGirl tracked me down here. Before she burst out of the ground at my feet I had just time to turn on my personal forcefield and make a note to myself to re-double my layer of electronic and thermal shielding around my complex before she threw me through a few walls, ceilings and floors until my shield became disabled. I didn't like the look in her eyes that said that she'd be perfectly happy to throw me through a few more thick concrete walls, without protection, if I gave her even the slightest amount of trouble. She did grab from my 'real' work desk a few computer disks and a folder labeled "Project Overlord" that was apparently left lying visible on top of my desk. The disks and folder naturally didn't contain any of my top-secret plans and instead were copies of my favorite family recipes and my notes for this season's Rotisserie Fantasy Baseball league. Imagine the government's surprise when they decode these stolen plans and find instead my instructions for making Grandma's Sunday Pot Roast, and my scouting reports of promising rookie prospects from the Winter Baseball leagues. I had a few tricks I could have pulled off to make an escape, but I was getting tired of losing expensive 'secret fortresses' that apparently weren't nearly secret enough… and my back was now absolutely killing me. I grinned as much as my mangled spine would let me and I let her put me into cuffs. She didn't bother with playing with any self-destruct buttons this time (she muttered something about dropping an asteroid on it later), so I sent the self-destruct command via my implant while she was flying me off to Phoenix and into the waiting arms of some Federal Marshals. Alas, my welcoming committee did not also include a good chiropractor. Expecting all sorts of nasty deviousness from me, the Marshalls kept me sedated for a few days until I was safely ensconced in the safest, deepest and most secure rat hole they could find to put me into. The place oozed an atmosphere of 'abandon all hope ye who enter', but I wasn't too concerned. I'd lost communication with my master computer via my implant, but I'd already given what orders I needed to. I caught up on my sleep and gave my abused back some well needed rest for a few days until my captors deemed it was time to start interrogating me, Evil Overlord #1, and the top most wanted criminal in FBI history. And Soon My Evil Plan... Ch. 01 ************************* I didn't decide as a child that I wanted to be an evil mad scientist. I hadn't thought about much of anything until I had already graduated from both Stanford and MIT by the ripe age of ten. I had my first PhD not much later and I kept adding on a fresh one every year or so until I turned twenty and ran out of subjects that interested me. I may have an IQ of approximately 270, but my attention span is decidedly lower. Fortunately I can churn out a revolutionary new patent that changes the world every odd month or so, so I'm always doing something new and different. My 'problem', as it were, is that I don't play especially well with others and never learned how to share my toys. I work best alone, with maybe just a few other folks at hand to wash out the dirty beakers and do the scut work at the lab. By sharing, I mean that I take an extremely dim view of governments and corporations telling me that my ideas are too radical (and valuable) to be patented. Examples: And Soon My Evil Plan... Ch. 02 BetaGirl had been keeping herself rather busy and mostly out of the pages of the tabloids, mores' the pity. I don't watch the network news very much and didn't even blink very much when the top news story at Drudge was "Meteor Approaches – End of Life on Earth CERTAIN!!!!!!" Drudge is always wound up about something, but he does link to any updates from my own web site, so I can't much fault him for getting a tad excited. It did seem to be a pretty big hunk of rock quite capable of pulling off another mass extinction event killing off 98% of all life on earth, like the Cretaceous "dinosaur killer" strike 65 million years ago. There is not much point in being a mad but 'reformed evil scientist' if you don't get to play with forbidden technologies like radical magnetic pulse launchers and massive particle beam generators. I was going to do everyone a favor and quietly blast our incoming uninvited extraterrestrial guest into a few billion pieces of safer rubble that should do nothing scarier than provide a nice light show as they burned up in orbit, but there was just one slight problem. That whole project was still really just in Beta, and not ready for prime time use. My crew of highly paid assistant fellow mad scientists told me that my "super-weapon" was almost finished, but required much more testing before using. No one ever conquered the world by using a beta-version of anything, and we cut every time corner down to the last few seconds before I felt secure enough to press the button to blast that incoming massive hunk of nickel-iron into rubble, virtually at the very last moment as it was starting to enter the earth's atmosphere. I then sent a few emails around to Drudge and few friendlier news outlets saying "No worries, I blasted that big bad space boulder! Yea, Me!" and parked myself off to bed early to watch the Sci-Fi channel 'Disasterthon' I'd recorded earlier of "Meteor", "Armageddon" and "Deep Impact". Some of our secret space alien watchers would probably be unhappy about my saving the earth, but screw them and their round grey heads. If they wanted to debate the point with me I'll use my new toy against their bright shiny spaceships and see who gets the last laugh! There was a bit of bitching from the usual eco-freaks about all of the meteor dust that was now in the atmosphere. It would take a few years to entirely go away but even the most aggressive estimates didn't project it to displace more than 1.3% of the earth's incoming sunlight. We'd get a slight touch of global cooling and some pretty red sunsets for awhile – sounds better than species extinction to me, but some folks are never satisfied. It was early the next morning I learned that BetaGirl was now alleged to be "missing" after her own attempt to stop the meteor, but I didn't think twice about it (I knew she was a tough girl and a survivor) until I found her washed up on the beach of my private island in the southern Bahamas the next morning, when I did my morning walk. She was breathing, but just barely. She didn't seem to have any major injuries, but her normally invulnerable skin was a mess of small cuts and bruises. She looked like she had gone on a date with Mike Tyson. All I could tell at first was that she was nude (and pretty), and I assumed that she was just some party girl who had fallen off of a yacht and washed ashore that way. It wasn't until after I picked her up and started to carry her back to my fortress that I recognized her face. As none of her injuries seemed critical, I cleaned and bandaged her up the best I could and put her to bed in a guest room and left her alone to sleep. I then phoned a temporary nursing agency in Andros City stating I would pay top rates for a trained nurse (preferably someone one with an adventureous streak and a sense of humor) and would have a helicopter waiting to collect her in less than a hour. Normally, according to the Evil Overlord Guidebook, the "Fair Maiden" should never be left unsecured in rooms full of bolt cutters, gasoline cans, knives, scissors, lockpicks, bandsaws, fire axes, chain saws, plasma cutters, electric drills, submachine guns, hand grenades, flame throwers and the like under the assumption that simply because she is unable to leave the room, she is helpless. In her case, I just left her door open and unlocked. Normally, any of my evil minions who ever left any prisoner alone and unsecured would themselves be left alone and unsecured in a very secure room full of angry bio-tech enhanced wolverines. In this case, I was going to make an exception. Every test I performed indicated that BetaGirl had apparently now somehow lost her powers! Hopefully, this would improve her temperament, but somehow I doubted it. She slept for the best part of two days, but woke up long enough to drink some water given to her by the nurse and then she went right back to sleep again for another full day. She woke up hungry the next time, and we fed her some soup in bed. She wasn't delighted at all with my company... but she was hungry, so I left the room after making my 'hellos' and left her to fume at the nurse... who turned out to be invaluable. I hired her permanently and put her on the company pension plan. Our medical benefits package had been a bit weak anyway. BetaGirl stayed in bed for most of the next week while she regained enough strength enough to even be able to sit up in bed. She could only walk in a stiff shuffle at first, and tired out extremely easily. Her wounds seemed to heal very slowly and she was sore all over her abused body, but her mind and memory were as normal. She tried giving me a good deal of lip during my evening short visits with her, but even her nurse told her bluntly to be ungrateful and "shut up and be nice, or leave", and that I'd done everything quite properly and her rescue had been performed in a very gentlemanlike manner in all respects. I told her bluntly after our first exchange of not so witty repartee that I'd have a helicopter or seaplane standing by to take her anyplace she wanted to go... when she wanted to go. If she couldn't walk, fine – I'd push her wheelchair to the plane myself. If she was going to be a 'guest' then fine – start acting like one, or she could fly or swim her way somewhere else more congenial to her. She bit her lip and vaguely nodded. I guess she thought it was going to be "Zombie Girl - Part 3" and it took a good deal of explaining to convince her that I'd already had my revenge and holding grudges is very counter-productive in the evil mad scientist line of work. She'd destroyed three of my private and personal pieces of real estate, and put me in a back brace for nearly a month before a really good chiropractor straightened me out. I, in turn, had taken some non-sexual liberties with her personage and made a few entertaining videos, but otherwise, no harm – no foul. I'd gotten my Presidential Full Pardon, royalties were finally flowing into my bank accounts and I was almost in the mood to be creatively constructive and invent new and useful things, for the first time in several years. The slate was even as far as I was concerned, but it took her about another week to shake my hand and agree for us to start on a clean slate. ***************** After about two weeks of convalescence, BetaGirl was able to shuffle about well enough now to start getting around in the fortress. I offered her a flight or a boat ride out, but she didn't seem to show any particular interest in leaving just yet. She started to take normal meals at the main dining table with me, and spent most of her days sunning on the upper patio deck or going down to the beach to take gradually longer swims in the warm Caribbean waters. She made a few phone calls to report to her bosses that she was "Ok, but taking a rest for awhile", which they seemed increasingly unhappy about. Apparently, AlphaGirl was giving them some fresh hell about her absence. It's far too complicated to explain the entire situation between earth's only two acknowledged Superheros. BetaGirl is a very public figure, saving the world for democracy every single day, with extra matinee performances on weekends. AlphaGirl, on the other hand, is a nearly mythological figure that remains very hidden and squirreled away in some government facility, mostly because she's currently bloated to the size of a very large double-decked bus or a decent sized whale. Far too huge to attend to any of her own biological needs unaided. Apparently she's now constantly fed mechanically via tubes with other devices to process her voluminous waste products. She's even smarter than I am apparently, and much crazier, with vast mental powers that boggle the imagination, but that doesn't stop the government from using her to do the majority of their top level secret planning. In effect, she's become her own branch of the government, with every important agency both dependent upon her... and scared out of their wits by her. BetaGirl is the only person that AlphaGirl speaks of as a friend, rather than as a 'subject' and she's the one they bring in to straighten AlphaGirl out whenever she slips into an unusually deep psychotic raving state. Together, these two were the only real survivors of an especially ill-considered "super soldier" bio-med program in the early 1960's. Most of the subjects (possibly involuntary) died, and the rest went either batshit crazy (and unusable) or developed powers that were uncontrollable (and thus unusable). I got the definite impression that some of these poor souls were locked up for good next to my cell in that very deep and secret government prison. I made a note to start looking into that theory... no one deserves that kind of treatment. AlphaGirl and BetaGirl were the only two successes, gaining incredible super powers. BetaGirl additionally seems to have been frozen in time, and appears to all eyes to be an attractive and buxom blonde in her mid-to-late twenties. She hasn't aged a day or grown a grey hair in over forty years! Her handlers didn't like the idea of BetaGirl being off of the reservation one little bit, but they'd never be able to trace down the signal of my Internet phone system that bounces off a couple of dozen proxies and comm satellites with periodic stops through the telco's of several of the world's least advanced shitholes. My guest had the good sense to keep her whereabouts private, at least for now. Good, I didn't want to deal with any black helicopter 'rescue' squads this particular week. I admit to being a fairly vengeful person, but I'm definitely not bloodthirsty. I've wrecked a lot of real estate over the years – but I haven't knowingly hurt anyone else in the process. I guess that is why I'll never make a very satisfactory Evil Overlord... I lack the sense of "Total Commitment" that one would have to make, to accept the death of innocent victims to complete my plans to their utmost capability. Really, I suppose it's just time to quit the game entirely, after all, just how many card carrying mad scientists have full Presidential Pardons? Maybe it was time to stick to making better toasters and quit trying to save a world that didn't seem to really want to be saved after all. Plus I definitely need to start getting laid regularly... I'm getting to be almost thirty! The idea of BetaGirl as a potential romantic partner didn't quite enter into my head until she walked into my office one afternoon wearing a skimpy bikini she had ordered from Wicked Weasel and had express mail delivered to us. Being a very rich evil scientist, I can afford daily courier service from a PO Box in Miami straight to my island door every afternoon. I still buy and sell a lot on eBay (you'd be surprised at the obscure but useful scientific equipment you can buy there) and for many years had a Powerseller account under the name of 'MadScientist', and do 99% of my normal shopping via mail order catalog. I have hundreds of catalogs piled up on a table next to one of my 'play' computers and BetaGirl soon found herself a new hobby - shopping therapy online, doubling my catalog collection with new additions from women's wear and shoe vendors. The bikini didn't leave much to the imagination, but I'd seen all of her charms on display already when I rescued her on the beach, but her outfit really did fuel the imagination. "What evil plot are you concocting now... and why don't you like me very much?" Talk about two loaded questions! The first one at least was easy to answer. "Nothing new and or exciting. Just tweaking my computer code that will destroy the evil PayPal and its' loathsome parent eBay once and for all, unless they turn from the dark side and reduce their seller fees and dismantle their DSR's of unspeakable evil. Soon, my lovely... soon. Mwuahahaha!" Sorry, I just couldn't resist wringing my hands together and uttering a maniacal evil laugh. The effect would have worked out much better if I had been wearing all black clothing, not to mention a cape. A week of beard stubble, Hawaiian shirt and shorts didn't quite carry the same effect. Actually, that particular evil plan was working quite well. A few points lower and I'll soon be able to start a proxy fight to grab secret control of the company and sell it off to either Google or Microsoft, or better yet Amazon.com. Hehe... eBay wants to act like Amazon, then let them be assimilated by the real thing, instead of becoming a loathsome imitation. She gave me a bitter frown and I relented by giving her a more truthful answer. "Actually, I've been a very good boy, I have... lately since my Pardon, and I haven't plotted against a single corporation or government entity... not but what they aren't mostly the same thing nowadays. Today, at this very moment, my thoughts are on making a killer mid-season Fantasy Baseball trade to dump some of my extra power hitting for some quality pitching, especially a relief pitcher that can get me a few Saves before going on the DL for the rest of the season. As for why do I not like you? Actually, I rather do... especially in your current attire, although I'm sure you need no reminding that that particular fabric becomes quite transparent when wet, as it currently is. Which leads to the intrusive and embarrassing question of how you managed to shave so completely and smoothly down there when you had your powers, assuming that particularly intimate hair was as invulnerable as the hair on your head." Actually, come to find out, she couldn't shave or even trim that particular hair then, which meant that she had to be relatively conservative in her costume choices, or at least how her underwear covered her extremely bushy crotch. Her nurse had helped her to shave in exchange for returning the favor, and I decided I really didn't need to know all of the other intimate details... it made me wonder just how friendly she had become with her nurse. Some friendly exploration not withstanding, BetaGirl, or rather just "Mona" for the likely future, was very heterosexual and quite willing to apparently pursue a relationship with me. Her super powers had made sexual relationships with normal men extremely frustrating. For example you certainly wouldn't want her to give you a blow or hand job and risk losing your member entirely. Asking her to clench her vaginal muscles tight was just asking to get it crushed instead. I didn't even want to think about how anal could be accomplished... or the likely after effects. Plain and cautious missionary sex was possible but boring, but her bouncing on top of you could be hazardous to life and limb. Sex while flying? An interesting theory, but the physics make it very difficult and probably nerve wracking. In short, Mona had been just about as sexually deprived as I had been lately, and was finally now possessed of the ability to do something about it. I think it was her that towed me into her bed by my ears, but I'm not quite sure. Her skimpy thong bikini definitely never made it out of my office. Our first time together was very, very good. Round two was even better. Round three was such a distinct improvement that we skipped dinner and had breakfast in bed together the next morning. No, the nurse didn't join us. I swear everyone has a dirty mind! It took a few days, but we discovered that we could talk to each other about things during the odd moments when we weren't having hot nasty sex or thinking about having more hotter and even nastier sex later while we were romping nude on the beach. Both of us were exceptional in our own way, and neither of us had any social peers, let alone real friends. We were both just too... different. We lived such unique and singular lives that only another similarly gifted (and maladjusted) individual could understand and truly accept the other for what we both were. The combination of one very lonely ex-superhero, combined with an equally lonely reformed mad scientist and former would-be evil overlord made for interesting chemistry... but it worked somehow. Together we felt like we 'belonged' for the first time in our lives and that life was really worth living, and not just something to be enduring. Then I had to nearly go and ruin it by 'curing' her. **************** Since the meteor incident, I had been very curious about what had actually taken place at those last moments before I destroyed the meteor with my particle beam weapon. The best we could figure was that BetaGirl had been right there underneath, trying to force this irresistible force away... but largely failing, until my blast struck them both and blew everything apart. She came crashing down into the sea, virtually powerless and merely mortal now. This led me to think that a reversal of the magnetic polarity field for my beam might restore her powers. Heck, this sort of thing always worked on Star Trek. It took a few months, but I built a reduced scale weapon that could channel its energy into a well-lined room. In theory, if I carefully controlled the gradual increasing level of power, BetaGirl could regain at least some, if not most of her powers. She was surprisingly reluctant and reticent about this opportunity to become her old previously powerful and possibly immortal self once again. She wanted to think about it, and she did for several more long weeks until guilt drove her to decide to give it a try. She didn't miss the long decades of government work, largely black book stuff that she was often ashamed of, but she did resent not being able to perform even minor feats of rescue. Ships were sinking, planes were crashing and fires were breaking out in buildings with children trapped helplessly on the top floor without hope of rescue... and no BetaGirl to come and save the day. It's hard to watch people die on TV and know that you could have positively saved them... maybe. In the end, she decided that she needed to try and become BetaGirl once again, if only to help those in need once more. With her powers gone, there was more than a fair chance that I'd accidentally microwave her to a burned cinder instead, but everything worked out just fine and after a few minutes at the lowest intensity she could tell that it was going to work. We slowly built up the power, as we would decompress a diver with the bends, and a day later, a fully restored BetaGirl was once again ready to go off and save the world. Mona was going to have to take the backseat once more. I'd like to say that things worked out with no problems, and that BetaGirl did her thing during normal business hours and then came home to be just Mona for the night, but it didn't quite work out that way. Her Government handlers were ecstatic to have her back, enough so to publically giving me the front page credit for "curing her injuries from the meteor" but they didn't like the idea of giving up any sort of control over her. She held firm, though, and worked out a sort of contract employment arrangement for national security critical jobs only, so that she could devote the majority of her time to more 'public service' and rescue jobs. And Soon My Evil Plan... Ch. 02 Our sex life took an immediate definite hit downwards, and then began a slow death spiral to the bottom. It was no one's fault – we both wanted it to work... but sex with a super-powered partner was wasn't very ergonomic, and we mostly quit trying after my second hospitalization for internal bruising and a few odd broken bones. This was going to be tragic, but our relationship just wasn't going to work without some sort of minor leveling of the playing field. I toyed with the idea of giving myself super-powers, but then decided that I wasn't quite cut out for the job, and should just stick to what I do best. Invent. So I did. It took awhile, but when I next invited BetaGirl over for dinner I had a slight surprise for her... a sealed bedroom in the heart of a complex magnetic inhibiter field that 'temporally' muted her powers down to a safe enough level for us to enjoy sex together without frying my own body. It worked to perfection, and saved our sex life and relationship from oblivion. Mona has a place to come out and be herself again, even for just a few hours. B&D has certainly become much more interesting for her when she can't instantly break out of tied knots and can actually feel a good spanking on her ass. Next, Mona wants me to build the new Turkish island vacation home with an even larger field that would encompass the entire house, so she could enjoy being 'normal' for up to several days at a time, but be able to run outside and immediately regain her powers and fly off in the event of an emergency. This would give us the best of both worlds, and if this experiment succeeds, during our first candle lit dinner in our new home, I'll ask Mona to become my wife... and I think she'll accept! As for the issue of her possible immortality, that's my current major research project and already I've made several breakthroughs studying how Mona's cells self-regenerate themselves. I think in another year or two, I'll be able to alter mine to do the exact same. I can think of a lot of government assholes who won't like this idea much either, or will want it for themselves, but I won't tell if it you won't. THE END ********