“Most people think that, when you work as the boss of a criminal organization, you have an army of seasoned minions that are as loyal to you as seasoned in the art of villainy. Robbing banks, squeezing out protection money, kicking ass around to make sure everyone knows who’s in charge.

That kind of things.

Well, they are not completely wrong, but they are, just enough.

Roughly half of a Villain’s workforce is made of paid mercenaries. You don’t need everyone who works under you to be completely loyal: you just have to let them known as little as possible in case they go snitch.

What’s the difference between a mercenary and a minion, you ask?

Well, sometimes, you’re bound to fight the faces you hired the last week to get punched or punch in your name.

-Excerpt of Smoker’s speech to newcoming minions

 

---

 

Of course this guy was a Meta.

It wasn’t much that it made sense with the information provided but, rather, that lately, everything that posed a problem to Lawrence was somewhat, somehow, related to Metas. It was like they were flies, and he was sweeter than honey by all standards.

Not in the weird sense.

He was starting to suspect his Meta-Ability, Criminal Mastermind, was being a little too efficient at making things run better for his world-domination conquest in the long run… By sending wave after wave of troublesome supers for him to take care of.

Sure, it was an advantage that let his power grow exponentially, considering even non-combat Metas were somewhat better than the untrained, regular civilian, and combat-oriented supers could easily overpower that.

The con?

His life was reduced to the parody of a criminal lord with an ever-growing army of worries.

Well, mostly worries. He had to admit there were some, other, nicer things than being almost gored to death by cranial contact with realm-rippling energy in the shape of a football.

That didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Gallutneck was neatly tied to one of his chair, after it had been disposed of all the junk and crap a couple of misfit, undereducated and poor hygiene standard-needing men with much more muscles than wits could fit on it.

Which was a surprising lot.

The act was purely symbolic, and the Meta could probably burst away from the ropes in any moment, but Mika had tons of that stored in her shadow dimension, along with other, equally useful things. Besides, he almost surely knew trying to do so would end up with a head less of weight on his shoulders.

Not that Lawrence had to point out it could probably end up with him losing his head in the least metaphorical sense possible.

He shook his head and spooked the thoughts away. Focus on the task at hand.

Christiane was done interrogating Gallutneck by the time he had snapped out of the ‘I could have died today, I almost died today, oh God, oh Christ’ frantic internal rambling. Which lasted little, considering how many times he had been about to die in the last month or so.

She had a drill.

Lawrence did not want to know where she had gotten the drill. He also did not want to know what exactly she had used it for.

Gallutneck’s terrified gaze and her innocent smile did certainly not reassure him in the least.

At least she had told him everything he needed to know.

In short: Gallutneck claims to have no responsibility for what his brainless thugs did to my house, and kindly asks to go fuck myself for almost killing him.

Yeah…

No.

To tell the truth, Lawrence couldn’t even tell if the man was lying or not. He doubted it, unless he had a way to outsmart Christiane in a way even she wouldn’t notice. If there was one such person in the world able to do that, it wouldn’t be him.

But even in case he was telling the truth.

The boss holds responsibilities for the actions of his subordinates. Even I know that much. It’s your fault if you can’t handle them at least good enough that they don’t go around smashing windows because they are bored.

He was still angry, and there was a scapegoat in front of him.

Of course, he was still a rational person. He wouldn’t do something extreme to the man just because he had failed to put the rein on his dogs… But he could at least scare the shit out of him.

And perhaps using that as a foothold to temporal conscription?

…

Why not?

He was the first combat oriented Meta he had found since the end of Wakening Season. At least if what he had told Christiane was true.

An elementalist-type juggernaut-psychic hybrid.

He was worth his weight in gold. And then some.

Generally speaking, psychic-types were good at a single thing: manipulating energy in the form of an element. For most of them, that meant something like casting fireballs, summoning iron blades or some magic-like show like that. They had an overall great damage output, but their resistance was the same as other non-combat metas.

Not really a glass cannon, but not too far from it either.

Juggernauts, on the other hand, were meat tanks with little technique and speed, but more than enough raw power and resilience to make up for that. Imagine a cannonball. Now make it able to develop little side-effects like shooting smaller cannonballs, making itself bigger or absorbing the momentum of everything it touches.

That’s a juggernaut.

Juggernauts were to psychics and sprinters what any Meta was to normal people. They were made to endure, and make sure to cause as much pain as possible to whatever reason they were force to endure for.

Now, combine a psychic’s damage output with a juggernaut’s resilience, and you have effectively gotten your hands over a near-unstoppable powerhouse that’s as hard to bring down as it is capable of blowing apart chunks of the city with its mind.

That he was also an elementalist meant the source of his powers wasn’t conventional, but rather energy given by his own powers and therefor only vulnerable to abilities made specifically to disrupt energy, or, more directly, suppress powers.

The second was rarer, but both were equally difficult to come by.

So all in all, the young man was a promise on his own right. And Lawrence had caught it in all its glorious blooming, owing him a favor and scared as hell from a subordinate that, sweet irony, happened to be in a similar situation.

At the end of the day, anyway.

Now the question is, how do I do this? Do I kindly ask him? Do I try to scare him further…? Do I make it all sound businesslike and give him no chance to say anything back?

… Fuenteovejuna, todos a una.

Sounded like an excellent plan. It also gave him room to vent out some of the bother. His sleep was ruined, he might as well make something good out of it.

Let’s ignore the fact bullying a person that’s probably if only slightly older than me for the fun and cathartic feeling.

I deserve release for the night.

If well it was way past 3:00 AM.

Lawrence shifted in the couch, crossing his legs, resting his left hand in the armrest while the right supported his chin, as he stared at Jean Gallutneck with the look.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

Come on, gotta pump up that self-confidence if I plan on intimidating anyone.

Gallutneck was staring back. Lawrence kept staring. None of them said a word. The world felt silent as Lawrence held his little gazing contest.

God, I hope he doesn’t know what’s going on.

 

---

 

I’m dead.

I’m dead.

Gallutneck wasn’t having a breakdown, but it had been close to one.

After deliberately trying to squash a person’s brain like a melon, and failing, he was forcefully tied to one of the chairs his ex-minions had left stinking to shit, then into a dark room full of much the same smell. Then a woman that had come out of nowhere started asking questions, and he didn’t really know what was happening in that time. It was like a trance. He kept staring at the power drill she had gotten out of… somewhere. It was creeping in. Closer and closer. No matter what he did, the bizarre tool lurked, as it if had a mind of its own, whispering secrets of his demise. He answered the best way he could, as it seemed to hold the accursed abomination at bay…

And then he snapped out.

Only to find him

Staring at his soul.

He could see him. The whole him. Both parts of his being trembled in fear. Nobody had seen him before. Nobody had gazed inside of him before. It was like a God was staring from behind those, cold, eerie windows of uncanny purple, like they were nothing but the peeping hole of something bigger, unfathomable, and it was staring at them right now.

The he spoke, and he trembled.

 

---

 

“You did not directly order the raid, and I understand that.”

“…yes.”

Again?

For some reason, ever since the poor guy had snapped out of whatever Christiane had done to him, he was quivering nervously, jumping out of his skin each time Lawrence spoke. He didn’t look around though, like nervous people did. His eyes were fixed on Lawrence’s, like they were the only anchor he could find to this material world.

Whatever Christiane did, I hope it wears off.

The poor bastard wasn’t in shape for a full, fledge-on interrogation.

Lawrence felt so bad for him whatever anger he was left had turned into… pity.

But alas, punishment would be admonished nonetheless.

Punishment in the form of temporary recruitment.

“You are still responsible for the actions of your subordinates.

With leadership comes responsibility, whether one likes it or not. The moment you are paying a person to do as you say, you will be accounted responsible for their actions. Not because you order everything, but because you control everything. That much expected from a decent boss.”

Lawrence was sure of something: as Mika and Christiane’s superior, he had to make sure did didn’t cause trouble for him or anyone else. He had managed to, so far, whether by luck or something else. Partially.

He was the only one that had suffered from anything.

“So as it is, it is your responsibility that your hired meatmen destroyed my propierty, stole my belongings, and left a smell that the best deodorants will take time to heal.

And so I wonder, what will I do with you?”

Gallutneck twitched again and he tried to somehow shrink himself in the couch even further.

Poor guy. I definitively have to tell Christiane to go easier on people. Psychological trauma isn’t nice. And this one looks like it will take some time to recover… Ah well, better not keep dodging the point.

“I have the perfect punishment for one such as you.”

At the mention of the word punishment, Gallutneck breathed out.

It wasn’t that he had calmed.

It looked like a lamb ready for slaughter.

Yep, definitively psychological scars.

I wonder if there’s a Meta that works on this kind of thing. Probably, but I’ll have to look for that later. Don’t want my newest and only full-combat asset to be a wretched mess in the battlefield, now do I?

“Worry not, I am a benevolent person.” Although that did sound like a Villainous thing to say. “I will not turn this into some pointless torture session or end your life as an example.”

Mainly, because that’s wrong in several levels and I never considered doing it in the first place.

“Instead, I have devised the perfect retribution. I will turn this into an opportunity of learning for you.

For one that has no skills as a leader, you will learn what leadership is.

Jean Gallutneck, from this day on and until thirty-one days have passed, you are my subordinate. You will do as I say, when I say, if I say.”

Yes, it wasn’t much that Lawrence was the ideal example of leadership. Au contraire. But he was supposed to bring up the matter somehow, and his theatrical vein was throbbing again.

He had to make it temporal. He could definitively not keep tabs on three different Metas at time, all the day, every day.

But he needed as much raw power as he could gather to fight the Yakuza, and when some of it just casually showed itself to him, he wasn’t about to throw it out the window…

Even if it looked like shit. Seriously, the guy’s this close to pass out. He’s got to take some pills or something. And I’ll have a nice chatter with Christiane about her and her… drill, later.

For now, let’s leave him alone.

“Now rest” Lawrence said with a much gentler tone.

“Heavens know you will need it.”