A Henchman Screwed Up
A lone henchmen in a yellow jumpsuit paced back and forth outside his boss's office. He knew what it was about. The bank job.
It was supposed to be flawless with no casualties. They had a man on the inside and all that needed to be done was take the money. Unfortunately, not all jobs go according to plan.
Ethical Dilemma
It had been three years to the day that I had become a therapist. I didn't have a specific clientele I wanted to work with, unlike the rest of my graduating class. Where they wanted to work with couples or substance abuse victims, I wanted to be open to anyone who walked through my door. Little did I know the slogan, "No judgement, I'm here to help," actually brought only one type of clientele. Villains.
Anger Management
Six pairs of eyes darted back and forth from one another. They all were sitting in fold out chairs that groaned every time someone shifted their weight. The hum of the air conditioner in the window was the only sound, until Paul looked up from his phone.
"Alright, sorry about that. Had some family business to attend to." Paul put his phone in his pocket. "My name is Paul and I would like to welcome you to our first session of Villain Anger Management."
Price Check
Super-Mart was the dream job of a lifetime, at least for me. Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be a superhero. Catch bad guys, save people from harm, get the girl. Sadly, life had different plans for me. When I was thirteen years old, I was diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome. Competitive sports were out of the question and with it my dreams of being a hero. I didn't let that keep me down though, so when an opening showed up the next summer at Super-Mart, I jumped at the opportunity.
Letter to the mayor
Mayor Cheerheart,
I have added below a confidential eye-witness account of the events that led to Dr. Alvin Vortan's death. Normally I would not waste your time with such a detailed account, but I think it is important that you get the full picture of what happened, unedited from the witness.
Jaster’s Return
"Come in," Jaster said, his eyes still stuck in his Super Villain Quarterly magazine.
A small, hunched over man came limping in with a crutch under his arm. His hair was dirty, face bruised and puffy. His clothes were drenched and smelt like urine that had been sitting in the toilet all day in the middle of summer.
Jaster scrunched his face upon smelling the foul odor that walked through his door. He looked up from his magazine and then slammed it on his desk.
"What happened to you?"
"The heroes, sir. They attacked me."