Accidental Villainy 1 (Patreon)

A world filled with superheroes was a horrible experience. 

That was the truth, and story after story fed by the media, about the glittering flying people saving the day endlessly, hardly changed that. All of it was a great show… 

How could it be any different when the streets were filled with supernaturally powerful vigilantes doing their best to implement their own understanding of justice, leaving only ruins behind. 

Albeit, villains were hardly different, dressed in equally stupid outfits as they acted out, even less careful about the collateral damage. 

Neither helped a newly awakened superpowered individual like me. 

Of course, one might ask why would I choose to hide away in a world filled with monsters on both sides of the law when I could join one side. After all, one side had the habit of bringing the hammer down anyone they termed as criminal, meaning anyone that wasn’t on their side, and the others were more than happy to force the others to join them. 

The problem was … I didn’t have any other choice. 

My superpowers were hardly something incredible. Just enhanced perception with a sprinkle of enhanced body control. No super strength, no immunities, no laser vision. Add in some complicated family obligations, joining any side was a dangerous mess. 

Unfortunately, hiding was not easy. 

The biggest problem was the fact that superpowers could be detected. Not the type and the applications, but the existence of it. And, almost every single business applied those tests — a reasonable precaution after several multinational companies had been robbed in a row. 

Of course, the government claimed that such a violation of privacy was not a problem, and that every single result was completely confidential … but I wasn’t exactly willing to believe that.  

Not when the aforementioned complicated family history already made me a target. I was already struggling to make a living in a way that I could hide my own name … and add in the text, I had no chances. 

Not when I personally knew two people that took their offer only to disappear forever. 

Villain work was already horrible, but the heroic path was just as complicated … government literally sucked the weaker heroes dry, and the independent guilds were no better; especially for people with bottom-of-the-barrel abilities like me. 

With a fake identity, the only option I had was to start a business of my own. 

… too bad that all my savings were barely enough to rent a rundown, failing bar in the worst part of the town. A desperate bet, but I already had experience with bartending, and trying to open my bar was a believable reason for suddenly leaving my job before the periodical monthly check. 

I couldn’t afford people’s suspicions. 

“Are you ready to sign,” the man in front of me looked at me with a big smirk, aware that he was getting one over me. But I had no other choice, so I signed. 

And became the operator of a nice little bar, one that came with a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the back. Not only did it cost me everything I had including my emergency cash, but also I had to borrow some money from a shady acquaintance. 

I just hoped it wouldn’t bite me in the ass. 

“Have fun, and don’t forget you have to send the rent before the fifth of every month, or we kick you out,” the agent reminded before dashing out, chuckling as he did so, happy that he swindled another sucker.  

“Oh, fun,” I said as I examined the place. Broken chairs, empty bar, smelly bathroom, horrible location… “I have a lot of work to do.” 

It was a desperate bet, that I knew. 

If the place had any money-making potential, it wouldn’t have changed hands four times in the last ten months. The street barely had any traffic during the day, and it was even worse during the night. 

And, I didn’t even have an employee to help … but luckily I didn’t have any customer to serve either. 

“At least my superpowers are not completely useless,” I murmured as I started working on the repairs. With the help of my power, I made a quick list of the biggest problems, and started working. 

First, finding help; hopefully one that wouldn’t escape when seeing the dirty state of the bar.

With a sigh, I grabbed a paper, created a small ad for looking for servers, and stuck that to the window before walking back to the bar and moving to the next item on the list … repairing the weak chairs…

 Then, there was cleaning… 

As much as I wanted to focus on the repairs, there were several cleaning tasks that had the biggest priority, particularly the visible ones in the bar area. Tables, mirrors, and the floor … particularly, all the areas that the customers would see. 

As much as I wanted to clean the dirty fryer and other areas that disgusted me the moment I saw them, they were not as important. And, the less said about that horrible room that was supposed to be the office of the manager, the better. 

The sooner I could open the bar, the sooner I could actually have any hope of gathering the necessary money to keep the bar open … at least without touching anything illegal. The shady acquaintance I had talked with had already implied that there were other ways I could make money using the bar, but I wanted to avoid that if that was possible. 

Not because I was a stickler for the laws, but because I didn’t want to dip into the illegal side of the business. That way, I would eventually end up dealing with the villains … ruining the whole point of trying to open my own business. 

Hours passed as I desperately cleaned the place to prepare for the grand opening —okay, not so grand, more like pathetic— as soon as possible. But despite the limited size of my new bar just a bar and a few tables, hours barely made a dent on the dirt. 

Under the dirt was … more dirt. No wonder the place had been struggling that badly. Even for alcoholics, the place was too much. 

Funny enough, my super observation ability was making my job even harder by feeding me information about the stains. 

I was dealing with a particularly nasty stain that was a combination of oil and dust that was cooked repeatedly under the heat of the lamps, when I heard a knock on the door. “We’re not open yet,” I shouted even without bothering to check. 

I was not in the mood to deal with an alcoholic, which was the only possible conclusion as to why someone would actually try to enter while the sun was still out to show every little horrible flaw of the place. 

I was expecting a rough voice cursing at me, so, I was surprised when I heard a stammering shout instead. “I-I’m here for the waitress ad on the window!” 

That made me turn, only to see a petite brown-haired white girl with fizzy hair, her large glasses covering half of her face, a large backpack on one of her shoulders that looked like it was filled with books, dressed in loose clothing that was fitter to a boy than a girl. 

She shuffled on her feet, clearly afraid that I would send her away. 

Not surprising, as she looked like a perfect target for bullying. A weak target that tempted everyone, particularly the losers that would work in such a horrible bar. 

The moment I saw her, however, I realized that my observation power gave me some interesting additional information. For example, the fact that despite the utter unflattering state of her clothing and relative cheapness, her stuff was both pristinely clean and pressed, showing a meticulous person.

Not exactly a profile to be walking in an exceptionally seedy ghetto street. She must be really desperate for work. 

Gullible and desperate. Exactly the cheap labor I needed to work hard to clean the place.  

“Sorry, come in,” I said, my tone shifting to a softer one as she pushed open the door carefully. 

Too carefully, I noticed, like she was afraid of breaking the door, my superpower almost shouted. It was a weird sensation to notice such an important disconnect. I was barely able to prevent myself from exploding in shock. “Please take a seat,” I said as I gestured at one of the bar stools while I walked behind the bar, watching her from the corner of my eyes, trying to catch more detail. 

After all, I had to be wrong. 

Right. 

Surely I couldn’t be that unlucky to get a superhero —or supervillain— visitor to my place, one with super-strength if her carefulness was any indicator. And, based on her care, either a new awakening, or her power was particularly hard to control.

Just my luck, I thought as I watched her sit, thinking about the best way to send her away. 

Naturally, without angering her. The last thing I needed was an angry hero ‘accidentally’ throwing a car at my bar. 

Just my luck indeed.