Paragon

Vladimir loosened his tie and unclasped the top button of his dress shirt once he situated himself in his limosine. Across from him sat a small fat man bundled in mid-west winter gear. The kind tourists brought to Alaska and thought would keep them warm. Despite how fat he was the extra insulation seemed to give the idiot nothing but an extra layer to sweat in. His mustache was trimmed and neatly kept, probably the only thing the fat man kept neat, Vladimir thought. His name was Michael and he was Draco Industry’s press coordinator. As much as it pained him to keep the slob around, the man did have his uses.

Next to Michael sat Myra Wallace; a shapely Yup’ik woman and also Draco Industry’s number one scientist and head researcher. All of Vladimir’s projects went through her and then through him before any progress was made or allowed. She was also a very strong psychic that Vladimir was coaching to use her abilities in more creative ways. She’d never be as powerful as him but as long as she was loyal to him he would never have to worry about that. Her eyes were currently closed; she was deep in thought and concentrating very hard on her objective.

“How did that go?” Vladimir asked while setting his right leg over his left and stretching out his arms carelessly.

“Approval ratings are definitely up, Mr. Drac- eh, my lord.” Michael said through chattering teeth. “Stock ratings went up a lot at the prospect of offering a cure for Supers, though I’ve already been getting calls asking what we plan to do with Nullifier manufacturing.”

“Just tell them they need not worry, there’ll still be plenty of weapons for everyone to kill eachother with.” Vladimir spat.

“I’ll word it a little differently, f-for publicity’s sake, of course.”

“Naturally.” Vladimir pinched the top of his nose and rubbed the frustration away. Politics and approval ratings were a modern game. In medieval times Vladimir could woo an entire nation with dragon-fire and be worshipped as a god. Anyone who challenged him he killed and that was that. There was only one challenger he could never defeat, but likewise could never seem to best him either. He knew that another bout with his rival was coming soon and he wanted to be prepared for it. He needed to end this age-old feud once and for all but there were things to plan for. This time it would not be just a head-on battle; this time he would have an entire nation fighting against his nemesis.

Collin Eckert quickly jumped into the seat next to Vladimir and slammed the door closed. Dozens of cameras flashed their lights and snapped photos of the limousine as it sped away. Once they were out of eye-sight, at least the sight of anyone with a story to report, Collin fell completely limp and started drooling into the leather seating. Myra’s large, chestnut eyes popped open and she smiled. Michael cringed at the sight of Collin’s sudden mental deterioration.

“Was this really necessary? If anyone finds out our stocks-“ Michael tried to warn his boss of the ramifications tied to money but Vladimir was already bored of it. Vladimir held up his hand in a gesture Michael knew meant to be quiet.

“Simply put, Michael, Supers can’t be cured. There’s nothing to cure. But now that people think we have the miracle, they’ll flock to support us. Supers everywhere will come out of hiding and ask us to make them normal so they can fit in. It’s only a matter of time before we are overrun with bodies to experiment on.” Vladimir said, while staring at Collin’s comatose body.

“About those… erm, experiments my lord. I’m sure you’ve already heard about Manticore…” Michael said, his hands folded nervously in his lap. Vladimir waved his hand, gesturing for the fat man to continue. “Ehm, yes, well… It ap-p-pears the assailants were able to make off with quite a b-bit of data. They may know about the other facilities.” Vladimir’s patience was wearing thinner than usual with Michael’s stuttering incompetence.

“My lord,” Myra cut in, “might I suggest adding some Supers under our own employ to aid in the defense of the remaining laboratories?”

“Yes, Myra, that will do fine. Be sure to notify the staff that the threat level has tripled. No one leaves or enters those facilities without my personal say-so from this moment on. Make it happen.” Vladimir said, eyes still closed with his fingers pressed against his septum.

“Of course, my lord. We do have video surveillance of the incident if you would like to see the culprits.”

“Splendid, show me.” He said as Myra handed him a tablet with a video already loaded and ready to go. Vladimir tapped the screen and the video came to life. Myra seemed to have already edited the footage to show the cameras that actually showed the would-be heroes breaking into his property. Vladimir’s eyes widened at the sight of his head surgeon getting squashed by the scrawny boy who turned into a massive beetle. What truly drew his curiosity was the blue-skinned one who seemed perfectly capable of using his powers inside the surgery room despite the presence of a nullifier.

“I believe that one has been causing quite the uproar this week, sir.” Myra said.

“Yes… it’s true then, someone is actually immune to the frequency. Intriguing…”

“Perhaps he simply has psionic abilities like the doctor or myself?”

“No, not this one… he IS different… He might be the key to our research. I want him found, Myra. Find him, his loved ones, his home, everything. I want to know where he was born, what his favorite damned color is.” Vladimir’s mind raced. Somehow, if he could get this Super under a magnifying glass he could study him and discover why he’s immune. It could unlock everything.

For several millennia Vladimir had always been fascinated by his powers. The ability to get inside another man’s head, see his thoughts, suggest actions to the weak minded, even creating psionic constructs which he used to terrify populaces all around the globe throughout time, the fire he could breathe that could melt steel. It fascinated him to always learn more. As time progressed, he learned how to incite people against one another; how to start wars with little more than a whispered idea or a bad dream they perceived as prophecy. Modern technology simply made his deeds that much easier to commit.

People craved a scapegoat they could blame and he was all too happy to grant them one in his brethren of gifted individuals. He was smarter than them. They were ants and he was a god who could sway the herd any which way he desired with little more than the nudge of his foot. Propaganda was his sword and it cut through reason like hot iron through butter.

But one man had always managed to thwart him wherever he went. He’d taken so many names over the years, as had Vladimir, that none of them seemed to fit anymore. Now, he went by the name Phalanx and still wore that putrid Spartan helmet he loved so much, only this time he’d given it upgrades. Somehow he managed to turn that helmet high-tech which managed to block Vladimir’s telepathy, which was what usually allowed him to beat the persistent Paragon. Now because of the circuitry in Phalanx’s helm he was unable to invade his mind, but there were other ways he would be able to take the man down. Time and time again they’d fought and every time one of them managed to slip away before the victor was able to deal a killing blow. Yet, each time Phalanx had, one way or another, managed to prevent Vladimir from carrying out whatever plan he’d concocted at the time. Vladimir knew that Phalanx hadn’t left the city since their little parlay but even Vladimir’s resources were too incompetent to track the centuries-old Paragon. If nothing else, Vladimir would give him credit for being a good rival.

The limousine pulled up to the skyscraper where all of Vladimir’s main operations took place. Most of his human experiments were conducted in the basement of this facility and all the business operations took place in the sixteen floors of cubicles and analysts who knew nothing of their actual dealings. Vladimir dismissed both Myra and Michael and sent them off to their own devices while he rode the elevator to the top floor where his office lay.

“Now there is a new piece on the board…” He whispered to himself, still staring down at the tablet that replayed the video footage of Manticore being destroyed. He watched the video over and over, analyzing, studying this new Super’s abilities and prowess. Vladimir had to be impressed, the man seemed to show natural leadership towards the Supers that accompanied him; and his powers were quite impressive. Vladimir had seen storm-manipulators before but never to this degree. The man’s control was precise, controlled and calculated. Every move he made was deliberate and he moved with the grace of someone who planned each step a minute before he took it.

“So my old friend, you’ve found quite the pawn to bring into this game… But will he survive it, I wonder?” Vladimir said to no one in particular. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out and strode to his office, ignoring the secretary’s peppy greeting to him. His office was the largest in the building, naturally, since it all belonged to him. Perfectly smooth blue carpet stretched all the way around with mahogany walls save the glass that gave him a full view of the city. His desk faced him away from the windows so that he could easily see the door while seated in his custom made leather chair.

Vladimir started to run scenarios through his head as he tried to make up his mind on what to do about this new Super that was responsible for destroying one of his research labs. No matter how he seemed to play it out in his head, even without knowing much about the man, he could not imagine this rebel being anything other than what he currently was; one of Phalanx’s pawns. No, he would not come over to Vladimir’s side. It wasn’t a matter of price. His actions already showed what side he was on and Vladimir saw no place on the board for this nosey pest. The pieces were already in place, the bases were loaded. It wasn’t about what would happen in an hour, or tomorrow, or next year. What mattered was where he would be in ten years.

The funny thing about living for thousands of years is that it teaches patience; the kind of patience that allows planning for a hundred years in the future; and that hundred year plan was just about to come to fruition.