Daily tabloid headline:
FLASHER VS. STREAKER: THE NAKED SHOWDOWN!
Recently, the Flasher went toe-to-toe with the Streaker. Both are high-speed vigilantes who fight crime in their birthday suits, though the Streaker only appeared on the scene last week. The Flasher has been quoted saying "I wouldn't mind him stealing my costume so much if he were a WOMAN, but seriously dude! That's MY schtick!"....
Daily news headline:
MIGHTY MISS PREVENTS SUN'S EXPLOSION (AGAIN)
Dr. Nova was thwarted yesterday by the lovely and accomplished Mighty Miss, who had spent weeks following rumors and leads about Dr. Nova's nefarious plan. Dr. Nova was operating under the asumption that blowing up the sun would "increase (his) street cred". When asked about his plan to survive the destruction of our planet, he paused, looked thoughtful, and commented "I really didn't think that far ahead."
Mighty Miss commented "Considering this is Dr. Nova's fifth attempt to blow up our sun, this was fairly predictable."
You stand outside the magnificent, gleaming doors of the main entrance to Supervillainy, Inc's headquarters. The glittering building is several stories high, with large windows from which flight-capable superpowered types flutter back and forth. The name of the company, as well as their stylized cape logo, glitters on the side of the building. Your resume has already been sent, and you were informed to come in by the front entrance for your interview.
While this complex is easily visible from the nearby highway, as well as for several blocks around, it is actually situated in a portion of Empire City that experiences less foot traffic. While the occasional gawker may swing by, they are few and far between; there is simply not that much of interest. At least on the outside.
The doors have no apparent handle, though a small button and an intercom are discreetly to the side.
You are sitting in a comfortable chair directly in front of the Mogul's desk. He looks coolly across the vast expanse of costly imported wood, fingers laced. He is a brawny man of middling height, with a strong, square jaw, massive hands, and short brown hair. His charcoal grey suit has been exquisitely tailored to flatter his build, and his port colored tie has the faint gleam of very expensive silk. Every inch of the man radiates taste, wealth, and a certain amount of cold calculation. His eyes are unreadable, hidden behind a thin screen of wrap-around smoked glass attached to his head. Circuitry glitters faintly on his headset, relaying untold quantities of information. It is interesting to note that scattered on the walls around him are various photos and newspaper clippings of him and his company. Some are simple group shots of the company picnic, though there is one of him shaking hands with Mighty Miss with a dead giant squid in the background.
"Six months," he says abruptly, in a resonant, slightly husky baritone. "Six months is the minimum time you must spend with us. At the end of those six months, if your parole officer considers you safe, you may be released to the general public. Of course, I hope you will consider staying with us at the end of those six months, as I believe you have great potential.
"While you are with us though, I expect obedience to the chain of command. Not just me, but any operative I assign to mentor or coach you. I do not expect your respect yet, but we will give you the discipline and training you need. Regardless of your personal feelings on this, you should be aware we have you over a barrel on this one. At this point, the only alternative you have to my tender mercies is to be locked in a prison specially designed for powered individuals.
"Personally, just between you and I-- that's actually a death sentence. Not literally, no," he adds with a grimace. "But for your mind, yes. Our government will balk its hands at shedding blood, especially blood that may come useful. After a few years, you might even get early release if you promise to be a good boy and do a few under the table deeds. But something I've noticed with people like you, Mighty Miss, even I-- is that our abilities are essential for our sanity. Even the most milquetoast individual, crying that 'they just want to be NORMAL,'" Mogul adds in a sickeningly sweet falsetto, though his expression makes it clear he has no tolerance for those folks, "needs their powers to stay sane. Even untrained, even if it's only occasionally, any person with powers that they don't get to use ends up losing thier mind. Those powers are as intrinsic as breathing. Trust me on this one Shades; I have seen some of my people after spending years in that type of confinement. They are never the same afterwards."
He sets his hands down, and gives a slightly bitter smile.
"I have read your file, and know that you may have some trust issues. I can give you this guarantee though: I will train you to the best of my company's ability. I will try to expand your options so that you have as many opportunities as possible after your six months with us. I will also NEVER let you go to the wolves. For better or worse, you are my responsibility now. That means if a mission goes sour, you won't be left behind. If a smear campaign is launched against you, unless it's one that YOU actually wanted, we will work to end it. If you are personally sued for something carried out under our name, we will stand by you and hire the best lawyers available.
"Do you have any questions? I will entertain anything regarding the operation, your instructors, or myself."