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Wasting Some Time
Our hero, the supervillain, placed his chrome mask over his face. No fixings affixed the fixture in place, but nevertheless, the damned thing didn't moved an inch. Magic! The metal mask covered the upper portion of the face and the rosy cheeks, but not the mouth. Why? "SMILE!" of course. Oh, and the mask had eye holes too, of course!!!
With his flabby gut overlapping the gnarly workbench, the supervillain reached for a distant conical flask. GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! Luminous toxic waste oozed from his quivering lips and dribbled down his chin. The glowing liquid overtook his dim lamp as the brightest light source in the dank ass basement.
Our supervillain, the hero, covered his eyes to protect them from the frothing concoction's glow--its light was turning this chunky boy's belly totally transparent and flooding the room with blinding, green, hot light.
"OOF!"
As the mixture went from belly to body--the rest of it that is--the light faded somewhat. After a minute or two, light only came from the supervillain's fingertips, eyes, lips, and his junk. But, nobody wants glowing junk, so he'd wisely prepared by putting on an extra pair (or five) of undies to help keep the light down. He wanted to look cool, not fucking weird.
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The sun beat down, it was a beautiful day. Our hero, the supervillain, felt so good, like anything was possible. Hulking bulk induced by magic vein juice gave the freeway runner the leeway to be a gunner. And he was gunning alright. A toxic waste hulkster, he was gunning it down 441, flipping cars and transfer trucks out of his way and into the cerulean skyscape. Fire, steel, and blood sloshed in his wake. It looked like waves... crashing on the beach. Rock 'n' roll rattled the rhythm of apocalypse into his supercharged psyche.
"There's something good waiting down this road," he roared back, doubling the decibels of his fodder. "I'm picking up whatever is mine." And whatever was his. Whatever it was. For one desperate moment there, childhood crept back into his memory. The sad sack supervillain had been raised on promises. And if he had to die trying, he had one little promise he was going to keep.
