Memoirs of a Crimefighter by Seth Jacob

Author:Seth Jacob [Jacob, Seth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12: Soup de Grâce

Armadillotron is easily one of the silliest supervillains in a long, storied history of ridiculous costumed criminals. Basically, he’s a guy with a lot of free time who put together a bargain basement exoskeleton armor that looks like the gross, leathery segmented shell of an armadillo. You’d think if you were going to build a suit of weaponized armor, you’d come up with a cool name that has to do with knights, or metal alloys, or at the very least, something that sounds vaguely technological. But no, Armadillotron really committed to his whole armadillo theme. He even had a swarm of little robot armadillo drones for back up. One month after I met The Punster, this was the caliber of supervillain that I was fighting.

“Armadillo Army, attack formation alpha seven!”

It was 2 pm, I had just woken up, and I was watching online video of The Millennials fighting Armadillotron and his absurd armadillo robots. The armadillo drones skittered across the street and towards us with their taser tails spitting sparks, and I could only watch the video sober for thirty seconds before it was too much to take.

I got up from my couch, where I had passed out last night, and I walked across the garbage coated floor of my apartment to grab the first of that day’s many beers. As I crossed my apartment, I heard Armadillotron ranting something about the “little armored ones inheriting the earth.” I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then I heard myself in the video drunkenly slur something about Armadillotron’s reign being “armadillover before it started,” and I grabbed the three more beers that I would need to deal with the fact that I actually said that out loud.

I walked back to the couch and continued watching the video that Joe Metal had recorded on his armor and uploaded to the internet. Mr. Mercurial started to snake his metallic tendrils into the seams of Armadillotron’s exoskeleton, and I looked through the playlist of recent videos of Millennials fights. In the past month, we had fought Armadillotron twice, the Lacrosse Assassin (the less said about him the better), Master Boson and the Ninjatoms, Professor Dinosaur and his Henchasaurs, and a guy who called himself, no joke, Bob the Invincible.

I was two beers deep by the time Mr. Mercurial had taken apart Armadillotron’s shoddily constructed exoskeleton and Insight telekinetically socked the shit out of his glass jaw. Even though he was beaten, it was obvious from the video of Armadillotron’s smug face that he was completely satisfied. This is what The Punster paid him to do. This is what The Punster paid all the bottom feeders that the Millennials fought to do. They were paid a respectable fee to make as much noise as possible, to rant and rave like carnival barkers about taking over the world, to cause a spectacular distraction that would preoccupy superheroes like me while The Punster and his forces quietly pilfered untold millions of dollars. The game was rigged.

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