The darkness before my eyes slowly receded, revealing a garage cluttered with all sorts of junk. There was everything here: various microchips, circuit boards, multicolored wires, and metal plates of various shapes and sizes. "A real mad scientist's garage," a crazy thought flashed through my mind. My eyes were unpleasantly itchy, and I reached out with my blue hand to satisfy the feeling. Wait. A blue hand?
I took my hands away from my face and held them out in front of me, examining them carefully. They really were blue... Or rather, slightly bluish. I rubbed them disbelievingly and was convinced that this was either a tattoo or my new natural hand color. Yeah… looks like I'm in trouble. No, not like that. I'M IN TROUBLE.
I got up from a chair with a stained upholstery, which let out an unpleasant, piteous squeak, and looked around the room. Only a gut feeling told me that this was a garage. Because the only things from cars here were the parts lying on the numerous shelves. And oil stains. The walls were all hung with various boards covered in crooked, but understandable and familiar squiggles. I had to look closely at the notes, as a sharp pain would shoot through the back of my head, and explanatory thoughts would arise in my mind. Here is the Bio-Savart-Laplace law, and here is the Hamilton principle... I had never noticed any special knowledge of physics in myself, but now it was as if I was remembering things that were on the tip of my tongue.
Speaking of memories in general, it is worth noting that I remember almost nothing about my translocation. Or death? In that body… or even world? For now, I'll assume it was my body. So, in that body, my name was Mikhail. I was 27 years old, an automation engineer, and an orphan from a shelter. I didn't meet any friends in my life, only acquaintances and companions. Relationships with girls also didn't last very long. After all, I was a rather sarcastic and unsociable person. Well, I don't see the point in regretting it. And panicking... since I can't change anything yet, I'll prefer not to torment myself.
I looked at my blue hands again, which were hidden by a lab coat. Yeah... This attribute didn't inspire much confidence and even led to some bad suspicions. Apparently, the slip of the tongue about a mad scientist's garage was right on the mark.
I wanted to find out what my name was here, so I started rummaging around the room in search of any documents. However, they were unlikely to be in the garage, which I didn't figure out right away. Apparently, the unexpected awakening had an effect. Upon discovering a door leading to the living quarters, I immediately slipped in there.
What can I say, it's a typical bachelor-scientist's dwelling: minimal furniture, an uncomplicated design, everything in soft tones. My gaze was fixed on the nightstand near the folding sofa. The back of my head was once again touched with pain, bringing back memories that this was exactly where I kept all my important documents. Finding a passport there, I immediately began to study it. A man in his thirties with bluish skin was looking at me from it with a slightly crazy (which, however, was not surprising) look. "Drew Theodore P. Lipsky," a laconic inscription read. This name echoed as a stranger in my native memory, brought here. It reminded me of something, but the memories were vague.
With my peripheral vision, I caught sight of a newspaper lying on the coffee table. Great! A source of information will definitely not be superfluous. I immediately unfolded it and was about to start reading when I was distracted by a beep in the garage. After a moment's hesitation, I still folded the newspaper, tucked it under my arm, and headed for the source of the sound. The newspaper definitely won't run away, but I'm not so sure about a device in a mad scientist's garage!
The sound repeated a couple of minutes later, when I had already examined all the suspicious piles of junk. The source was an old-style laptop, which looked more like a suitcase due to its angularity. I opened it, and a semblance of an ancient Windows 95 appeared on the screen. The number one was lit next to the envelope icon, attracting my attention. Well, well, let's see...
«Most esteemed Doctor Drew Theodore P. Lipsky!
I am pleased to inform you that your resume and essay «How I Would Conquer the World» have impressed me greatly. By the despotic and selfish decision of the great me, the Malicious Ruler, you are accepted into the League of Villains!
May your brilliant imagination henceforth serve the cause of chaos and lawlessness! "Evil Points" have been credited to your account, for which you can purchase a villainous Lair, your first minions, various equipment and materials, as well as your future Right-hand.
And by the way, the League is ready to invest and sponsor only as long as its members bring it glory.
Failure and curses to your enemies.
The Malicious Ruler.»
After finishing the letter, I rubbed my eyes in amazement. I swear, even my transmigration into a blue man looked less comical compared to this "evil"-obsessed villain. Seriously, even his nickname looked more like a mockery than a pretentious moniker. Yeah, and what did the previous owner of this body get me into?
However, I didn't stir up this device for now and went back to the paper source of information.
In the same place, 15 minutes later
My hands were shaking nervously as I read this opus. "What's so terrible about it?" you ask. And I will answer you: nothing. Absolutely nothing terrible! No crime, no currency collapse, no dirty scandals, no gossip. It's like everyone around is eating butterflies and pooping rainbows.
Ugh, it made me sick. No, don't get me wrong. I'm not a prude. I just refuse to believe in the fairy-tale nature of this world! Yes, now I didn't doubt for a second that I was in a different world.
To finally dispel my doubts, I decided to get information firsthand. No, not through the laptop, it only had internet for the League's applications. But from my neighbor!
After leaving the house, I looked around again. Here an elderly couple was leisurely walking in the shade of the trees; here a friendly neighbor in a polka-dot apron and mittens from the house across the street was hurrying with a hot pie on a baking sheet to her neighbor; here a postman was walking, greeting everyone, and even having short conversations about the weather with some of them; and here a group of children was engaging a high school student in their game, and she joined them with a ringing laugh.
I suddenly felt out of place at this celebration of life. Everyone around was so… normal. No one was rude to anyone, everyone greeted each other and smiled. And I wanted to be sarcastic and spit venom. However, when in Rome…
To my right, behind a white wooden fence, someone was bustling around. And then I was confused. This moron was trying to horizontally carry a pink flamingo for the garden through a doorway. When he saw me, this idiot dropped his burden and waved to me happily and shouted something welcoming. But the flamingo did not forgive him for human stupidity: its body (judging by the sound, not at all hollow) fell right on the neighbor's feet, causing him to double over in pain.
Oh God... What did I do to deserve this? I had long since stopped holding back and stood with my hand on my face, nervously and awkwardly smiling.
The neighbor, finally recovering from the pain, perked up and ran to me, clearly to greet me. But the pink avenger did not forgive him for the mistake again: the neighbor tripped over the flamingo and fell flat on his face, soiling his apron at the same time.
I didn't mention what he was wearing? A pity. He was a very colorful character: a pink Hawaiian shirt (to match the Flamingo, by the way. Or maybe that's why the flamingo was causing him so much trouble?); red shorts with strange patterns and finally a swimming circle around his waist.
In the end, he managed to get to me, and he, smiling happily, held out his hand to me.
— Doctor Lipsky! Hello! Haven't seen you in a while! You should get out in the sun more often, otherwise you'll be all blue, heh-heh, — he said with a witty (in his opinion) joke during the handshake. However, there was a grain of truth in it, I would get rid of this color at the first opportunity. — We're having a barbecue by the pool, don't you want to join us?
— I think I'll pass. — I smiled awkwardly to maintain the image of a detached but polite scientist. — So much work, so much research, you know, — he just nodded furiously in response.
— Too bad, Doc! But don't worry, tomorrow we're having a picnic in nature, maybe you can join us then? — what a persistent party-goer he is. At his suggestions, I demonstratively rubbed my chin with my fingers and made a thoughtful face. By the way, on closer inspection, memory, once again provoking a painful prick, threw in the name of this person: Fred Swanson. It seemed that he worked as a salesman at a car dealership, and a very good one at that.
— Tomorrow? Maybe, Fred, maybe. By the way, why did I come out in the first place? I've completely gone off the grid from civilization, — I spread my hands and smiled guiltily to reinforce the words. — What's the news? Has anything interesting happened during my reclusiveness?
— Ooh! You have no idea, Doc! Mrs. Flock's poodle gave birth to six puppies! Here, she's giving them away to anyone who wants them, we've already taken one. The whole family is happy, — he waved somewhere towards the house. — Mr. Worth's granddaughter got into Massachusetts University! And they also say that the mayor wants to build a water park in our city! — the admiration emitted by the neighbor could now compete with ionizing radiation, but, apparently, the blue skin (or the cynicism of the past world?) did not let it through.
— Is that so? I see, I see... Has anything bad happened? — I just refuse to believe that everything is so rosy in this world. I mean, the local villains' organization wrote to me!
— Bad? Well... Our runner Matt, who represents the city in marathons, strained his leg recently, — he said incredibly thoughtfully. Then he beamed, as if he had remembered something like that. — Oh! A little while ago some bad guy painted the whole monument in the park!
I was simply speechless. Is this world really so... so utopian? At first, it seemed to me that all the bad things were hushed up here, but these absolutely sincerely happy and honest faces, the peaceful way of life, and childlike naivety convinced me that this was the truth. It's real. And I didn't want to destroy it. Of course, to add variety with various dirty tricks, but to destroy all this, like a typical villain? Or even to conquer and then rule? So here in front of me stands a classic resident of this world. And now imagine the size of the headache just to manage a conquered world? Imagined? Now multiply it by two, or even three. Because when every second subordinate of yours is a Fred trying to horizontally shove a flamingo into a doorway, the number of problems increases dramatically.
— Th-that's very sad, Fred. I think I'll go. Goodbye, — leaving the neighbor in confusion, I hurried back to my house. Who said it was a shameful escape? It was a retreat! I would not have endured another hundred invitations to a picnic, barbecue, aqua disco, or party!
Having returned to my lair, I sat down on the sofa, having previously grabbed the laptop with me and placing it on the coffee table. By the way, while carrying it, I didn't notice a charging port on it. For a flash drive or a mouse - yes. A thorough inspection revealed a lead cover with the inscription "Caution! Radioactive!" Did they really shove a nuclear battery into a laptop? I hope there will never be a person named Dornan in this world...
After some time, I returned to thinking about the prospects, having settled on the sofa. Well, I'm not going to regret the impossibility of going back, I liked this world so much. And the new body, although older, I more and more often caught myself feeling of lightness of thoughts. I easily solved difficult examples in my mind, and all my memories were somehow put in order on their own. And the knowledge in the field of engineering and physics, which came as a bonus. Of course, I'll have to brush up on a lot, endure bouts of headache, but that's a small price to pay. Now for me there was no word "impossible." There were only "I'll have to work on it" and "it might take a lot of time."
Secondly, the League of Villains. I glanced at the laptop, which was invitingly blinking with two new offers that appeared after reading the letter. Utopia is good, of course. But I suddenly felt an unexpected responsibility to the people of this world. They're like children! Naive, sincere. And someone has to take away their candy to toughen them up. Only how to do it carefully? How not to overdo it?
I was not going to destroy all living things with nuclear and biological weapons, because it was stupid, I myself still have to live here, and there is no need to destroy such wonderful people. And I didn't want to kill at all. So far, I was not ready to cross this line. To do dirty tricks, like that vandal from the park? It's kind of small-time, but it's already better. Hmm... In general, since they are all so impressionable here, we'll just do big dirty tricks. Relatively harmless, but so they'll remember!
Third, I want to live well, and for that, I need to earn money. The League will provide it for me. And I'll be able to steal things under the guise of another dirty trick. By the way, I should visit the bank and check how the old me was doing. At the mention of my sponsor, my gaze returned to the laptop on its own. It seems my eccentric boss mentioned some points. Let's see.
I opened the icon in the shape of a dagger raised behind a silhouette, with the caption "EvilMart". It seems the League is really obsessed with its exclusivity and villainous affiliation. After waiting for some time, I saw an online store with a whimsical but pleasant design. The closest analogy would be a Halloween design: a dark background, white letters in a Gothic font, various red-and-black and burgundy banners. And even an inscription popped up: "Enable a version for the visually impaired, those who have experimented on themselves or other handicapped individuals?" Now that's what I call care, even if it's seasoned with a pinch of black humor. And I'm starting to like the approach of the local villains!
After finishing setting up the site to my liking, I started studying the assortment. There was everything here! You could buy literally everything. There were many tabs: rumors, information, education, materials, devices, henchmen and minions, inventions of other villains, stolen goods. The tabs "Right-hands' resumes" and "Villainous lairs" were especially highlighted. The burgundy color, italics, and a font a couple of sizes larger left no doubt that these were the ones to pay attention to first.
I decided to start with my future assistant first. And again, there was everyone here: mad scientists, super-soldiers, modificants, geniuses, managers and administrators. It's even surprising that with the existence of modificants and cyborgs, they don't show up anywhere. Although for some reason it seems to me that the League is not the only weirdo-monopolist. I think the heroes have a similar organization that does roughly the same thing. And they mostly feud among themselves without the goal of destroying the surrounding reality, despite all sorts of villainous slogans. In other words, a closed party. In which I was somehow accepted. Wait. What were my motives for joining the League? It's not just like that, is it? I had to tear myself away from such a pleasant activity as satisfying my own inner hoarder. And considering that I am being sponsored, and this conditional money is not mine at all, it was doubly pleasant to spend it.
After searching the house, I found crumpled letters in the trash, obviously from anger. Rejection, rejection, rejected – now it was clear. Probably, the former Drew was a rather ambitious lad, he wanted to promote his ideas, and recognized minds kept refusing to implement them. Whether it was resentment, anger, or revenge, it doesn't even matter anymore, since the application to the League has already been accepted. Apparently, at least these weirdos appreciated Drew's bursts of genius.
Having dealt with my new past, I returned to buying goodies. More precisely, choosing from what was available, since all the best on the list was blocked due to a "low level of bad reputation." Yes, apparently, I will have to do some villainy first to earn this reputation.
The available personnel caused only nervous laughter or pity. Here, for example, is a scientist with no education at all. A martial arts master with a third-degree obesity. An administrator with senile dementia? Seriously?! Apparently, I rejoiced too soon.
So I flipped through these resumes, sighing in disappointment. After all, each subsequent one was even worse. But unexpectedly, at the end of the list, I found a very good option. A girl, a martial arts master, has superhuman strength, higher education, is healthy. What is such a person doing here? Such people should be for cooler villains.
However, the answer was quickly found as soon as I unfolded the resume and studied it in more detail. A former hero. Now it's clear where such distrust comes from. And the application has been hanging there for almost four months. A girl of incredible attractiveness looked at me from the photo: skin as if from porcelain; thick dark hair; a piercing and slightly mischievous gaze of two emeralds; sharp cheekbones and regular facial features. "Shego" – read the name of the person who submitted the resume. And then I finally realized where I was and who I was. I'm in the world of the teenage cartoon "Kim Possible," which combines a good comedy in the form of ridiculous villains and their blunders, the adventures of the heroine herself and her companions, as well as the drama of adolescence. And I in it am a flamboyant villain and a mad genius, Doctor Drakken. Yeah...
I could only sigh heavily. I will be opposed by a teenager. And she will win. A brilliant (albeit crazy) adult scientist! But it's nothing... Nothing is predetermined yet, and my future actions can change a lot, and besides, I already decided that I'm not going to conquer the world or harm it in any other way. So why not get involved in this confrontation between heroes and villains? They get the glory and the work, I get a "restraining" factor and an excuse for the League.
Mentally patting myself on the head for creating free jobs, both for minions and for heroes, I decided to choose Shego. After all, she is the best choice. As soon as I confirmed the choice and returned to the main menu, an unusual trill sounded from the pocket of my lab coat. I took an old-style mobile phone out of it. A sliding panel to protect the buttons, a green screen with black digits of the incoming number, and a small antenna on top. Clearing my throat, I answered the call.
— Hello.
— Hello? Doctor Drew Theodore P. Lipsky? — a pleasant female voice of the interlocutor sounded from the receiver.
— That's right, it's me. How can I be of use to you?
— You are greeted by the League of Villains' support service. You have just chosen a Right-hand for yourself. Is that so?
— Yes, that's right. Is something wrong with that?
— No, no, not at all. It's just... She's a former hero! — and there was so much indignation and distrust in her voice, as if she herself had been doing villainy for several years in a row. And these very nasty heroes are hindering her plans.
— Well... Yes. I thought that a former hero would know the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of other heroes, — only a sigh was heard in response from the receiver. However, it sounded to some extent familiar to her. Apparently, every villain is a rather eccentric person, so she's used to their antics.
— Are you absolutely sure of your choice, Doctor Lipsky? — and again there was so much hope in her voice, as if I would say right now that it was a joke. But I hastened to disappoint her.
— Yes, I am sure, — I answered firmly, establishing a ten-second silence.
— Well... In that case, I will inform the candidate of her appointment. Should she start working immediately? — the interlocutor again switched to her usual clerical tone.
— Thank you. Let her come for an introduction first. We will start working when we move to the future lair, — and indeed, I'd better get to know my assistant better before I start doing dirty tricks.
— Understood. In that case, all the worst, Doctor Lipsky.
— And to you, miss.
The phone was beeping the end of the call, and I was staring at one spot on the ceiling, thinking about my fate and future. Because I don't remember anything from the cartoon. I would like to avoid Drakken's mistakes, but I'm not him. It is unlikely that the plot of the cartoon will coincide with reality from the moment I appear. And some oddities were also noticeable: my body was much younger than the one shown in the cartoon. Maybe Drakken also tried to get rid of the bluishness, but couldn't and only got older, after which he abandoned the idea.
By the way, about experimenting on myself. Who said that mad scientists only have one right-hand? And I saw one suitable candidate for a second right-hand. I went back to his resume. Butler, 67 years old, professional shooting training. The only reason for his presence here, on the list for beginner villains, was his age and multiple old wounds. But I don't really need a shooter, but a loyal manager will come in handy. Norman Adams - that was the name of my future butler. By the way, unlike the almost free Shego, Norman required a decent number of Evil Points. Ugh, I'm also starting to think in the spirit of the local flavor.
Having indicated that the butler can arrive and start working as soon as my future lair is chosen and built, I moved on to choosing one. There were ready-made lairs, empty plots, and only projects so far. Accordingly, a ready-made one had the highest cost, and empty plots had the lowest. Although this is not entirely unambiguous. For example, an abandoned gas station with two underground floors cost less than a territory in a mountain complex that covered the plot from all sides. There were also various discounts and promotions here. Apparently, they were selling either illiquid assets or things that had been idle for a long time. An abandoned castle on an island with a serious discount immediately attracted my attention. I remember in the cartoon the original Drakken also had something similar. I still flipped through the offers, although the choice had already been made mentally. Seriously, who didn't dream of their own castle as a child? Only the one who dreamed of their own island. And if you combine them, you get this dream! And even though it required restoration, the laying of a pipeline and electricity, heating and various other expenses, this castle was already mine. By the way, when purchasing the lair, you could immediately order a complete renovation and modernization. You could, of course, buy an empty plot and build a lair from scratch, but it would not be so big, and the costs would not be much less.
When the purchase was completed, I received a notification by mail that the contractor company would bring my future home back to normal in three days. Then it would be possible to move in. However, something was still bothering me. Was a person like Shego and such a luxurious base deliberately slipped to me? Is it luck? Or a test of the employees' cleverness? It is not entirely clear yet, but it is better to stick to the version that this is someone's cunning plan. However, knowing this world, I would not be surprised if it was just pure luck. But healthy paranoia is the key to a paranoid's health.
I had little points left, so I decided to buy myself a decent gray three-piece suit for my future villainous role, embroidered with green threads in the form of a classic Paisley pattern, which many call "cucumbers." And I also had to choose a team of minions. Among which only outright blockheads and idiots were available. However, my eye caught a brigade of migrant workers, so native to the Russian soul. This villainous multitool, although it did not have great intelligence, but I will think for them, so it does not matter, was able to perform absolutely any work. In addition, these guys worked literally for an idea! The League itself pays the employees money or the notorious Points, but the employer (called the "Boss" in the application) has the right to reward especially zealous ones. And if high-class employees consider a bonus to be a mandatory part, then for these guys it was literally a godsend. And if they turn out to be incapable idiots - no big deal, they'll still be good for dragging round things and rolling square ones, or for a setting... I smiled nervously, what a setting it turns out to be: a mad scientist-loser, a former hero, a gothic castle on a deserted island, and a brigade of migrant workers.