The face beneath the mask drops a leaden weight into my stomach.
Oh God. Oh dear God.
He yells something, inaudible from the police helicopter's position, but I can tell what he says half from how his lips move, and half from who he is.
"My name is Nefarious," he bellows silently from the TV screen, and laughs. He says something else, but I don't catch it. It doesn't matter. Something appropriately villainous.
Where are the heroes, I wonder, fretting. Where are they? Why hasn't anyone come to stop— Oh no. It's Friday, the 3rd. CapeCon, a hero convention and trade show, is in its second day down in
Nobody really talks about it, but
You're brilliant, Nefarious, I think, feeling sick. You're either brilliant, or so lucky you should be playing the lottery, if you ended up planning your heist for today by chance alone. Did I tell him when CapeCon would happen? I can't remember. I know we talked about it once before, but I just can't remember if I told him when it would be. And now I'm the only one anywhere nearby.
"Dr. Higgins," I call out. "I need to go."