The Good Life: Ill-Intentions (ch. 3) (Patreon)

Cinder cycled through her social media pages, smirking to herself all the while. Across her feed were reposts of the video that the Vought team edited together -- and she had to admit, it was nicely done. If she hadn't been there, she would have thought that it had been an actual team-up, the transitions were so flawless. That video alone brought her more attention than she had received in the past month several times over.

With a lazy tap of her fingers, she uploaded a new video along with a batch of photos -- a video of her laughing with the Deep and Translucent. Pictures of them striking poses with silly little captions. Naturally, Translucent was only visible thanks to the robe that he wore. Cinder's smile widened when she saw it had instantly picked up traction.

"World domination from the comfort of my own home," Cinder mused. It was shockingly easy, really. It was all about timing. With her demographics of teenagers and young adults -- 40% percent male and 60% female -- there was a sweet spot where the teenagers were up and going to school but not yet at school. Young adults, they were getting up to go to work. Making a post within that sweet spot was guaranteed to get in the ballpark of six hundred thousand likes.

Comparing the graph to her usual trends, Cinder saw that the trend was a straight shot up. It wouldn't be her first post that would break the million barrier, but it was likely to be the first to break two million. Naturally, the numbers were up across the board. Three hundred thousand new followers so far on Twitter, four hundred thousand on Instagram, and a million outright on V-ine. Purchases for her merchandise were through the roof to the point that there would be a backlog for months if no action was taken.

All because of a lucky break. A coincidence.

"He planned this," Cinder mused to herself, setting her phone to the side as she went about getting ready for the day. Cinder wasn't sure how exactly, but Vincent had arranged for that meeting. She didn't believe in coincidences, because in her experience such things very rarely were a matter of coincidence. She especially couldn't believe it when Vincent proved himself to be well-connected and something of a plotter. It would seem that she had underestimated ever so slightly how well-connected he really was.

Cinder thought that Vincent was a member of the criminal underworld, but perhaps she needed to rethink that opinion. What if, instead of passing along information gleaned from gangs, he was passing along info stolen from Vought? All to arrange an eventual meeting between her and the Seven? Which so happened to massively boost her numbers? Regardless, she would have to reevaluate their relationship going forward. Vincent had hardly outlived his usefulness yet, but he was now in the position to start asking for favors in return for his help.

Cinder checked out her appearance -- she was dressed in her signature red and gold dress that she had remade in this world. The Dust threads were missing but it still curated the look she desired. Her makeup was mostly done and after applying a layer of lipstick and wiping off the excess with a napkin, she teased her hair and it fell in the desired location. Smoldering. Sexy. Seductive.

Perfect.

Almost on cue, Cinder's phone rang. "Good morning, Conner," Cinder greeted her assistant. He was the head of a small team that helped manage her accounts and did the grunt work for her marketing. It always paid to be polite to the help, even if they didn't always make it easy with their incompetence. But it was an important foundation to build an image upon. Eventually, someone was going to start snooping around her to find a weakness to exploit, and a disgruntled employee could be a chink in her armor. So, she was unfailingly polite and friendly.

If there was an issue, she went the extra mile to see that employee move on to another job where they could thrive, soothing over any ill will.

And, failing that… well, murder never failed to tie up a loose end.

"Vought just reached out to us for a meeting with Madelyn Stillwell. The Madelyn Stillwell -- Senior Vice President of Hero Management. They didn't say about what, but I can feel it in my bones, it's about good things," Conner said, ignoring her greeting and Cinder crushed a small pang of annoyance. Conner was an excitable young man. He was also extremely gay.

This world was rather odd. There were no faunus as far as Cinder could tell, only those that had animalistic traits because of their powers. In the lack of a clear 'other' humanity found increasingly inventive reasons to discriminate against one another. The color of one's skin, nationality, religion, or sexual orientation. It was actually rather puzzling, but Cinder wouldn't let an opportunity slip by her. Diversity was important to her base so every member of her team was a 'minority' or a member of the LGBTQ. All in the name of being progressive.

"Arrange it. The sooner the better," Cinder replied, ignoring his rudeness in favor of seizing the opportunity. Then she remembered. "Please."

"The earliest they can do is right now," Conner informed, his voice brimming with excitement.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Perfect."

…

Vought International was a company that dominated the world in every meaningful way. All because they had superheroes. And the building itself was a tribute to them on every single level. Statues, paintings, murals, and more. Every single hero that Vought sponsored from the first -- Soldier Boy -- to Homelander. There was even a large '7' written on the side of the building, telling the entire world who it belonged to.

Cinder was escorted by an assistant named Ashley, who flattered her up every single floor gushing all the way up to Madelyn's front door, which was opened for her. Cinder cast a measuring look at Madelyn Stillwell -- she was in her late forties to early fifties, yet she aged with grace with the help of makeup and very likely Botox injections done periodically. It was impossible to not know the woman if you dealt with the business side of things in the Supe scene. In it, Madelyn was a veritable Titan.

Who so happened to be very heavily pregnant.

"Miss Stillwell- oh, please don't get up. There's no need," Cinder smiled sweetly at the woman as she entered the office, who started to rise to greet her.

"I appreciate it, Supernova," Madelyn said, taking her up on the offer with an appreciative smile. "I feel ready to pop, so I don't know if I could stand even if I tried." She remarked, her tone warm and decidedly friendly.

Cunning. She was using her pregnancy as an icebreaker and a way to measure her. "I can imagine. May I ask how far along you are?" Cinder questioned, playing along. Despite the pregnancy, everything else about the woman was meticulously in order. Her dirty blonde hair didn't have a strand out of place, her jewelry was minimal but noticeable, she was well dressed, and everything in her office was neat and orderly without so much as a spec of dust to be found.

"Forty weeks," Madelyn replied, the answer sounding practiced. Cinder adopted a surprised expression as if she didn't already know that. Learning that she was pregnant was one of the very first things that she learned with her preliminary research. Along with the fact that she had no husband to speak of and the father of the baby was a doner. Anonymous. She had been taking fertility treatments for the past year and a half in a last-ditch effort to have a child.

"Oh, my -- you really are about to pop," Cinder remarked and they both shared a polite laugh. She should be due any day now. She never understood the appeal of children.

"I really am… but, until I do, I have plenty of work to keep me occupied," Madelyn responded, moving on to the heart of the matter. "You have been on our radar almost since you first debuted," Madelyn began, starting with flattery and Cinder adopted a faintly surprised expression, but inwardly, she smiled. “An interesting career. Most heroines go traditional routes -- beauty pageants, sponsorship deals… but you went straight to busts and you’ve clearly had a great deal of success there.”

“I had a late start to being a hero,” Cinder admitted, wanting to laugh even as she said the words. “I felt like I had to make up for lost time. And beauty pageants were never really my thing,” Cinder said with a smile, earning an ‘uh-huh’ from Madelyn. A little faux modesty that was rooted in honesty. Those that only had their looks to rely on were inherently worthless as people. Beauty was a tool. Not a personality.

“I would say so,” Madelyn returned, her tone taking a patient and measured quality to it. “Most are on the circuit before they’re even preteens. But in the past month, and as of today, though things haven’t been made open to the public, you have made the shortlist. Out of the two hundred heroes in America, you’re officially number twenty. Very impressive work. More so considering that you don’t have any official branding.”

The point of why she was here. “I never found the right company,” Cinder stated, a sigh in her tone.

Madelyn smiled, “Had your eye on one in particular?” She questioned, already knowing the answer.

Cinder chuckled, “Of course, but it would come off as rather desperate if I was the one that made the first move, wouldn't it? I’m sure you get petitions from every Supe across the world, hoping to catch your eye. I thought it would be best to stand above the rest of the flowers in the garden,” Cinder elaborated, her gaze becoming sharp. Always negotiate from a position of strength. She was the one that was summoned, but she was here because she could no longer be ignored.

“Vought has noticed,” Madelyn stated, inclining her head to her. “We would like to make you an offer to officially be represented by Vought as one of our heroes,” she said and that was exactly what Cinder desired. Vought was a media company, but in practice, it was a marketing one. They would sell Supernova as much as they could to the public -- toys, movies, TV shows, merchandise, and so on and so on. “I have a contract here that you can show to your lawyer. It’s rather standard-”

“I’ve already read the standard contract,” Cinder admitted outright, and she saw it. She caught Madelyn flatfooted. The standard contract might as well be indentured servitude. There were a number of reasons why she didn’t start by going to Vought. “But this isn’t exactly a standard negotiation, is it? There’s never been an independent hero that's breached the top twenty, has there?”

Madelyn leaned into her chair, “There hasn’t.” She expected some haggling, Cinder realized. “If you read the standard contract, then I imagine that you have an idea of what changes you would like to see?” She asked, looking for a counteroffer instead of making one herself.

“The standard rate is two points. I want four, complete control over my marketing, and a guaranteed trilogy of movies by a director of my choice,” Cinder started high. Money was superficial, but it had inherent benefits and it galled her to be paid the standard rate. What she wanted was complete control over her marketing, but that was unlikely. The movies… ideal, but not entirely necessary.

“Complete control?” Madelyn echoed, and Cinder fought off a frown. She wasn’t surprised that she zeroed in on the biggest issue, but it wasn’t any less irritating. “That, I’m afraid, is out of the question. You would be representing Vought, not just yourself as a sponsored heroine. I can see… three points, a voice in marketing, and a movie with the potential of a trilogy depending on ticket sales.”

“In the span of a month, I was a non-entity and today, Vought International pulled out the seat for me. I understand my marketing and how to sell myself. I’m sure the members of your marketing teams are very competent, but it can’t be denied that you’ve had a number of… missteps, and I merely want to ensure that I’m not one of them,” Cinder returned without missing a beat. “My marketing decisions go through creative, and you, who hold veto rights. Likewise, your marketing decisions can be vetoed by myself so long as I can provide sufficient reasons for it.”

Cinder could see Madelyn considering that. “I would have to run it by our law team, so I can’t commit to anything outright, but that does sound within the realm of possibility.” She decided on a noncommittal answer. That was no surprise. This was merely the first round of negotiations. There would be another two or three rounds before a contract was produced that had enough compromises for both sides to agree. Cinder wasn’t fond of the idea of compromises in general, but it was the nature of the business.

The rest of the haggling was semantics as far as Cinder was concerned. Madelyn got her down to three and a half points and a stand-alone origin movie with the caveat of a TV show provided that the movie did well. Cinder’s own marketing team would be brought into Vought, she would manage her own social media presence, and so on and so on. There were a number of things that Vought would be determined to limit her on, and a number of things that Cinder was willing to sacrifice to get what she truly desired -- the brand name of Vought, with none of the strings attached.

“I will admit, Supernova, this is a first for me,” Madelyn remarked at the tail end of the negotiations when there was enough information on the table of what both sides wanted but nothing could be agreed upon without lawyers present. “I see why you’ve done so well for yourself. You certainly are formidable,” she complimented. It was difficult to tell if it was a genuine one or not, so Cinder assumed that it was flattery.

In her position, Cinder wouldn’t enjoy a newcomer on the block throwing her weight around. “That means a lot to me coming from someone like you,” Cinder replied easily. “And please, call me Cinder. Supernova is the costume, not me,” Cinder said, standing up and presenting a hand. Madelyn shook it, even if she didn’t attempt to stand again.

“Cinder it is, then,” Madelyn agreed and Cinder felt satisfied. It was a productive meeting. Her lawyers would be notified and briefed on what to expect, preparing them for any underhanded tactics from Vought. All the same, Cinder felt her career as a superhero had just taken a major step forward.

She was feeling thoroughly pleased with herself as she left Madelyn’s office, heading to the elevator. That pleased feeling took a sharp downturn when she heard a familiar voice speak up. “Woah, hey, Supernova,” The Deep greeted her, approaching. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he added, throwing a smile her way and she resisted the urge to narrow her eyes. Cinder knew to check her corners in every room she entered.

The Deep hadn’t been down a hallway coming her way. Meaning that he had been within a room. It was very well possible that he had his own meeting -- thanks to his looks, The Deep was surprisingly popular. However, only people who were lying about not expecting to see someone somewhere said ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’ ‘What are you doing here’ or ‘what brings you here’ was a far more natural response. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here’ was a statement that was entirely dishonest.

All the same, Cinder smiled, “I don’t want to jinx anything, but it looks like I could be signing on with Vought.” The Deep had planned to ambush her at the elevator. An assassination attempt? Discrediting her? Or fumbling flirting?

“That’s great! That’s so awesome, dude,” The Deep said, sounding like he was genuinely pleased and Cinder only blinked at being called ‘dude.’ “Well, that sounds like a cause for celebration! If you want, I could take you out to a great place to do it. It’s called the Secret Lair -- great club, great music, and, uh, it’s… discreet.” The Deep offered and that roused her interest. It was part of his attempt at flirting, but it was an interesting description. Why did he feel the need to use the word discreet?

“That sounds wonderful, Deep,” Cinder agreed. Even without the club, it was an opportunity. She would send a text to one of her aids to snap a few shots of her and the Deep then anonymously post them to the Supe fan forums with speculations of a relationship. It’s best to strike when the iron was hot. “Are you available now?”

“For you, ‘course I am,” Deep replied, his tone smooth as they both stepped into the elevator and were taken down into the garage. There, they entered a rather bland-looking vehicle that wouldn’t be out of place on the road beyond the tinted windows, before they took off into the city. All the while, Deep talked and talked and talked.

“The Deep: The Deeping is slotted in for the third quarter next year, but pre-production has been going great. You’ll never guess who we got to direct it -- Seth. Rogan. It’s going to be great. Everyone loves a romantic comedy, and no one knows comedy like Sethy- I call him Sethy, it’s like a nickname since we’ve worked together on, like, a dozen projects.” The Deep rambled on and on and on, and Cinder’s smile remained affixed to her face despite the internal screaming.

The Deep liked to talk about himself -- his movies, books, comics, TV shows, and ratings. He also liked to talk about his future projects and Cinder was certain that he was violating at least one NDA. It was almost a relief when the car stopped and the doors opened, revealing that the Deep had taken her to some back alley. A quick glance at her phone told her where they were -- 33rd East street.

The Deep approached an iron cast door with a slider with a confident swagger, knocking at the door and tossing her a wink as he did so. The slider went to the side before closing a second later and the door swung open, “Welcome to the Secret Lair, Deep,” a doorman welcomed them, allowing them both inside. The interior was dark, and dimly lit… but she smelled it even before she saw or heard it.

The sounds of sex.

“This place is great- it’s reserved for A-listers and VIPs only. So, the rank and file don’t know about it,” The Deep informed as they stepped past an ornate doorway that had… was that a naked Homelander touching tips with another naked Homelander? Her surprise was stolen by the door opening to reveal the source of the smell and sounds. A large banquet hall, ornately decorated in a classical fashion, had been turned into one massive fuck room as far as Cinder could tell.

There were dozens of people in the hall, almost all of them in various stages of undress. Above, she saw a supe leisurely floating through the air as a woman rode him to a climax. Another pair were fucking on the walls a good dozen feet above the floor. There were even a few men and women fucking on a rather large chandelier. Out of the corner of her eye, Cinder saw a woman snorting a line of coke off an erect penis before she polished it off.

There were fountains of wine, beer, and chocolate. Waiters and waitresses delivered drinks and drugs to patrons, and more often than not, they were pulled into the fucking that was going on.

“I see,” Cinder remarked, her tone carefully blank because the Deep was right. Everyone here was an A-lister or a VIP. She might not recognize some of their faces, but she recognized their powers. Such as when she saw Termite, a man with the power to shrink himself, crawl into the penis of another man, who threw his head back and moaned loudly. Another, Shockwave, had a dozen women lined up in a row before he blurred into action. A split second later, Cinder saw cum dripping out of the abused vaginas of those dozen women, all of them collapsing soon after.

“It’s great, right?” The Deep said, giving her a smile as they approached a private booth. This was…

“It’s incredible,” Cinder replied, her tone honest, just not for the reasons that the Deep thought. This was perfect blackmail material on a sizable chunk of her competition. She wondered how interested Vincent would be in this information… it would be a good test -- both to see what he knew, and so he would see the value in their ongoing symbiotic relationship.

“Hey, dickhead -- mojito for me and a…?” The Deep said as they took a seat in a private booth, getting the attention of a waiter that only had on a Homelander-inspired cock ring.

She couldn’t drink anything here. “Sex on the Beach,” Cinder decided, thinking that it was a suitably seductive option. Based on how the Deep perked up, she was right on the mark. Her gaze slid to him, hiding the calculating glint behind fluttering eyelashes. This was quite a coincidence. The moment that she received an offer from Vought and entered into negotiations, she was brought to a sex club where every fetish under the sun seemed to be indulged upon and every illegal substance could be found on the menu ranging from pot to ketamine…

There was a reason why Madelyn Stillwell was in her position, Cinder reflected, finding her respect for the woman increasing. The play was obvious enough -- to get some dirt on Cinder to use as leverage in negotiations. A clever play, but one less so because it was spotted. The issue was that Cinder needed to extract herself without causing offense or giving Vought anything to use against her.

“You know, you’re really impressive. I read your background check and… wow,” The Deep began, his tone empathetic and Cinder blinked slowly. Did he… just admit to reading a background check on her?

Okay. Perhaps this wasn’t what she thought it was. The Deep was far too stupid. Though, that didn’t mean that Madelyn couldn’t take advantage of his stupidity.

The Deep took her silence as permission to continue. “Growing up without parents. I can’t even imagine it. And those bitch sisters of yours… awful. It’s all awful. Which makes you so incredible for getting through it,” the Deep began and Cinder clenched her jaw. The only reaction she would allow herself.

This world had a Cinder Fall, as far as Cinder could tell. Their stories were nearly identical in the broad strokes. Cinder was orphaned young and adopted into a family, suffering horrific abuse and being treated little better than a slave. What differed was how that story ended -- instead of being murdered in a fit of rage by Cinder, the adoptive family was revealed by a social worker, and Cinder went to a group home until she turned eighteen.

Sadly, the adoptive family was all dead -- killed fleeing from the police in a tragic car crash. It was rather disappointing. Cinder had hoped to murder her adopted sisters and mother all over again. She imagined it would be no less satisfying the second time around.

As far as Cinder could discern, whatever brought her here had simply put Cinder in that Cinder’s place. For what reason, she couldn’t even begin to guess, but it mattered little. No matter what world she inhabited, one thing was constant, and that was her desire to be at the top.

“We all have our tribulations to go through, Deep. I got through it, and I like to believe that I’m better for it,” Cinder replied, giving a practiced answer for whenever that question would crop up. It was part of the image that she was crafting -- a young woman pulling herself up from poverty and abuse.

“Yeah, yeah -- totally, I get it,” The Deep replied, trying to play up the charm. And failing. Miserably. “Which is why I got some insider info for you,” he said, a smirk finding its way onto his face as he threw an arm back over the round couch they sat on. Behind her with an offending hand coming dangerously close to her shoulder.

Cinder raised an eyebrow, “How very generous of you, Deep.”

He offered a shrug, leaning closer as if he were about to tell her an important secret. “I figured you deserved it. See, the thing is, Lamp Lighter? He’s retiring. They’re about to announce it,” The Deep informed her and that was some sizable insider information. Her eyes widened a fraction, her mind racing as she searched his face for any hint of deceit. He seemed too stupid to lie, and just stupid enough to tell her that to get in her good graces. “So… a position in the Seven will be opening up.”

“I’m hardly the only one that would want to join the Seven,” Cinder remarked. It would be a fierce competition for the position. A competition she fully intended to win.

In response, The Deep placed a hand on her thigh. His fingers brushed her inner thigh at the hem of her dress. Cinder looked down at the gloved hand, not at all caring for the texture of his suit against her smooth skin, debating if it would be worth the hassle of cutting the offending arm off. “A good word would go a long way for you,” The Deep remarked, his voice low and heavy. “Especially if it comes from the Number Two in the Seven. I can practically guarantee that spot will be yours…”

Cinder gave the proposal a degree of serious thought. She wasn’t above using sex to get what she wanted. At most, it would be five minutes of unpleasant humping compared to a huge step forward in her career. However, Cinder had doubts that the Deep could pull off his end of the bargain and guarantee that she would get into the Seven. It seemed far more probable that he would fuck her and then forget about their deal.

On a personal note, the Deep was repulsive and seemed comfortable with extorting sex. Meaning that he had likely done so before. That was something she could use with a little investigation work.

No. No, it wasn’t worth the risks. Especially when her contract hadn’t been finalized. That being said, The Deep just put her in a very awkward position because she couldn’t outright reject him. “I’m sure it would,” Cinder replied, reaching up to the Deep’s face, her fingertips brushing over his stubble before she leaned forward. The Deep closed his eyes, going for a kiss, only to find her lips by his ear. “But, you will have to do better than that if you want to bend me over this table and fuck my virgin pussy, Deep.”

With that, Cinder stood, smirking at the poleaxed expression The Deep wore as he looked up at her. “Better?” He echoed, seemingly lost.

“The Seven. You get me into the Seven and I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to stop,” Cinder made a promise that she had no intention of keeping. His leverage would be gone, and by that time, she would have enough dirt on him to make him her creature. The Deep’s jaw dropped, sputtering, and Cinder left him like that as she left the Secret Lair, paying no mind to the fucking going on around her.

As soon as she left the building, she took out her phone. It rang once before Vincent answered.

“I have some information for you this time, dear Vincent.”

…

“Yo, what the actual fuck?” I questioned, caught flatfooted by what Cinder told me as I made my way down the steps of a building in Midtown. Superhero sex clubs? That was wild. Absolutely wild. I’m not even sure I really believed it yet, to be honest. I would have to launch my own investigation into the Secret Lair, but… I don’t even know. The very idea of it was wild. Worse, I have no time to really digest the information because Cinder caught me on my way to my very own meeting.

“Indeed,” Robin remarked from an earpiece. I made a last-minute adjustment to my mask, my gaze catching my reflection in a mirror. I was wearing a Future Industries gas mask. A high-end model that was colored black and white -- the filters were built into the mask itself, leaving a lean look while white glass covered the eyes. The top of my head was covered by a hat that I purchased, a fuzzy black and white one that was reminiscent of a panda. Mostly white with black spots.

It matched the rest of my outfit. Black jacket over a white V-neck with white fur at the hood. Charcoal black pants and converse hightops. Almost a casual outfit. If I took off the mask, then it might become one. But, it was my costume. I felt a rush of excitement travel through me, practically giddy with it. Letting out a small sigh that was scrambled by the voice modulator that I had put into the mask, I gathered myself up.

“Room,” I spoke, a room appearing and expanding outward. I was still working on my distance. But, with my position, I was directly a floor above the basement where the meeting was taking place. I switched my position with a playing card that was within the basement, one that was strategically placed.

The basement was dark with only a single point of light shining directly above a round table that was set up. Seated at the table were nine people. Will Fist was seated at the head of table, and people were eying the kingpin warily. Almost uncertain if it was really him.

The others were faces that were well-known to me. They were the leaders of the top gangs and mobs within New York. My gaze slid to Carl Falcon, head of the Falcon mafia. Then to Little Nina, the head of the Russian mafia in New York. The others were less notable in comparison -- the leaders of the Bloods, Crips, MS-13, Six-Shot-Shooters, All-Americans, and Nightbloods.

“For a kingpin, you don’t feel like you’re the one pulling the strings. We’ve been here for five minutes now, and all you’ve done is dodge questions,” Little Nina remarked, taking a puff of her cigarette. Her voice had a rather strong Russian accent despite the fact she’s spent the past fifteen years in America.

Will winced, a hand going to his chest. And not just because of nerves because I lazily caught his heart after tossing it up into the air. “That’s because he’s not,” I spoke up, stepping out of the shadows and into the light. The reaction was pretty much what I expected. Guns immediately went out and were pointed in my direction, only to be replaced by bananas from a crate upstairs. That got some noises of confusion from everyone involved.

“You’re a supe,” Little Nina voiced, the calmest of everyone except for Will, who knew what to expect.

“That I am. And, I’m here to make a proposal,” I said, casually striding to the round table and setting Will’s heart on the table as I took a seat. Everyone’s eyes went to it, curious, but not certain. Little Nina’s eyes flickered to Will, seeing how he eyed it with desperation. I saw it click in her mind. She knew whose heart it was. “I would like all of you to work for me. Like Will does now.”

There was a brief silence at my offer, my warbled voice echoing in the dark room. Predictably, I got the answer that I expected.

“Why the fuck would we do that?” Carl Falcon questioned, a distinct Italian twinge in his voice as he slammed his hands on the table. He was an older man, a gray fox really, but that didn’t make him any less imposing.

“Because I…” I trailed off, building tension in the room before I continued. “Would like you to.” I finished, tapping a finger on Will’s heart and he winced in unison.

“What are you offering?” Little Nina questioned, more open to the idea than the others. I tilted my head as if I was thinking about it.

“Wasn’t really offering anything,” I admitted with a small shrug of my shoulders. “I was thinking that you all would pay a fifteen percent kick-up, give me complete access to all of your contacts in the police and civilian worlds, trade routes, and so on and so on. Basically, your organizations would become my organizations. Or, rather, organization to keep things nice and tidy” I elaborated in a casual tone, and I could feel the brewing anger.

Why would I offer anything when I could just take it?

“I think I’ve heard enough,” the leader of the All-Americans -- a man that couldn’t be more of a neo-nazi because he literally had a swastika on his forehead. He made to get up and that was when I made my move.

Everything in the meeting was curated to be absolutely perfect. A stone directly behind his chair was switched places with me, “Scalpel,” I intoned, pushing his heart out of his chest. I said the word six more times as the others scrambled to their feet, only to have their hearts removed by me. Nina lunged for hers when I pushed it out, only for it, and the others, to vanish inside of a safe that had more pebbles in them.

When I was done, I was the only one in the room that possessed a heart and all of them were gasping for breath, looking at me with wild eyes. “There we go,” I stated, smiling behind my mask. “Now, I understand that you are angry and upset. I know you were very attached to your heart. However, if you all don’t take a seat, I’m going to have my lovely assistant crush your hearts in the palm of her hand.”

There was a pause for a long moment before Little Nina stepped forward and lifted the chair that had fallen back when she jumped out of it. She was the first to take a seat at the table and her actions made the rest rush forward. I waited for them all to be seated and nodded. “Very good. I imagine that this is going to be a bitter pill for some of you. No one likes suddenly finding themselves one link lower on the chain of command. I get that. So I won’t begrudge you for your feelings. They’re a natural part of the healing process.”

I held up a finger, “However, I will punish you for your actions. Any attempt to betray me, well… I already made a threat. Seems unnecessary for me to repeat myself. I imagine you’ve all been on this side of the table enough to know where I’m going with that. So, on a much happier note -- we are now one big happy family. You all pay me a fifteen percent kick up. Your connections are now my connections.”

They didn’t like that. They didn’t like that at all. Some kept that fact better hidden than others, but you could feel it in the air -- all of them were pissed to hell and back.

It was hilarious. Pissing off gangsters and mobsters was so much more fun than I ever thought it could be.

“But,” I continued, “what is mine is also yours. You will give each other complete access to your connections, and trade routes. Any beef between you is officially over. There will be no friction of territory or revenge killings for past slights. None of you are whatever gang you were a part of. You’re now one big gang that’ll get along, hold hands and sing songs, or I will murder whoever manages to annoy me the most with your bullshit. Seems fair, right?” I held my hand out to everyone, seeing stony expressions but got no response.

“It’s fair. Right? How about a thank you for my generosity?” I requested and that was too much for Mr. White Supremacy. He snarled, slamming a hand on the table before jabbing a finger at me.

“You fucki- Ugh!” He gasped, his hand going to where his heart was before he was driven to a knee, the breath knocked out of him. Thank you, Robin. The others were startled by his reaction as he collapsed into the fetal position, gasping for breath as his heart was squeezed. “S-stop! T-th-thank you!” With a heave, he was able to breathe again as Robin let go when she heard the magic words.

That broke the damn, the other thank yous pouring in with haste, though none of them sounded particularly heartfelt. “You’re welcome. I appreciate your appreciation,” I told them all with a smile in my voice that the scrambler couldn’t hide. “Now, lastly, some ground rules. Naturally, all hostile actions will cease immediately. If there is any dispute between any of you, I expect you all to handle it like the calm and reasonable adults that you all are and use your words. Failing that, I will murder whoever annoyed me the most in that exchange because, believe me, my sense of justice is extremely arbitrary.” I continued, standing up, and looking at the new members of my gang.

Between all of them, I would own more than half of the organized crime within New York. I could work my way down until I owned all of the organized crime, but, honestly, that seemed tedious. It would be better to just have these guys expand and root out the competition. I felt a stirring of pride in my chest at the sight of the top gang leaders in New York, all cowed and beaten. I’m certain all of them would try something eventually. And maybe they would get me.

They wouldn’t get to live to enjoy it, though. Wasn’t like their heart was going to magically return to their chests. The container around their hearts,  which transported the blood that still flowed through their veins, would vanish, so they’d die pretty quickly after they took me out. Which, honestly, only added to the excitement.

This was fun, I realized. So much more fun than I thought it would be.

“Are there any questions? And that’s an honest question. I want to make things as clear as possible,” I offered and the leader of the SSS licked his lips before, cautiously, raising his hand. I pointed to him, amused by the sight.

“What do we tell our people?” He asked me, earning a thoroughly uncaring shrug.

“I could give a fuck. I won’t. But, I could. That’s your problem,” I told him with about as much sympathy, my smile widening at his scowl. “Any other questions?”

Little Nina raised a hand, and I pointed at her. Is this what a school teacher felt like? No wonder all my teachers were complete shits. Terrorizing people is pretty enjoyable when you were the one being terrorized. “What do you intend for this… partnership?” She asked, her tone composed and professional. I needed to keep an eye on her. She seemed crafty.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll find out eventually. But, if you need a reason, then it’s mostly because I think it’s funny,” I told her and I saw her eyes tighten even as her lips curled up into a smile. I wasn’t here to make friends. I didn’t care if they liked me. I had all the power in this little relationship of ours, and I fully intended to be a tyrant. “Now, on to the most important piece of business on the agenda. From henceforth, this little powwow group will be known… Will, drum roll.”

Will cast me a look, his gaze hard before he began to lightly tap the table in a beat.

“The Eight,” I revealed the name in good cheer. Simple, easy, and to the point. I did think about calling ourselves the Heart gang, but that felt like it would be poking a wound that was pretty fresh for them. Also considered the Hateful Eight, but apparently, it was also a movie.

Little Nina glanced around the table. “There are nine of us,” she remarked.

I paused, looking around the table as if I were counting them out. “Huh,” I remarked, seeing that she was right. Shit. Shit. I fucked up. I forgot to count myself in the Eight. I was their boss, so I wasn’t… ah… fuck. Fucking, fuck. Wait. I have a solution. I raised a hand high up and replaced my glove with a knife that was in a drawer upstairs before plunging it down into Will’s heart that was on the table. Immediately, blood began to erupt from it, and Will convulsed.

“You-” Will started, going to lunge for me but stumbled back and flipped over his chair. He was dead before he even hit the ground, his heart going still as it was pinned to the table. The others were having mixed reactions ranging from loudly shouting ‘what the fuck’ to coldly staring at the heart, seeing that their lives were very much in my hands.

It wasn’t much of a loss. Will had seen my face. “Bayer’s territory and assets will be divided up between you,” I told them all and I saw the greed. “See? It’s not all bad,” I told them, ripping the knife out of Will’s heart.

I looked at the seven remaining gang leaders, feeling satisfied with how this meeting played out.

I was officially at the head of a criminal conspiracy. Today was a great day.

“One final question, if you don’t mind,” Little Nina spoke up, catching my attention. “But what do we call you?” She asked and I smiled broadly behind my mask. That was a question that I had been anticipating.

“You can call me Heartless.”