Free Blackjack Villain by Ben Bequer

rooftops to come out of the fire escape in the rear of a building three blocks down. Finally, I went into a small local mall, escaping out of a service entrance, catching a ride in the back of a delivery truck for a few miles before doubling back. I used every trick in the book and it took me four hours to travel what would have normally taken me thirty minutes.
    I was energized and nervous, thrilled at the prospect of a new start. But I wasn’t stupid, and I wasn’t going to make it easy for Atmosphero and his friends to find my secret sanctum. I wanted the rubber match, sure, but on my terms.
    My lab lay in a small deserted two-story warehouse on Seaton Street, between East 5th and Palmetto Street, across the street from an abandoned gas station. It was surrounded with a broken down chain link fence, and in the no-man’s land between the fence and the actual warehouse, the ground was covered ankle-deep with garbage of all sorts with a veritable community of rodents living in the filth. The surrounding buildings were either abandoned or for sale to ensure no one would ever notice me coming and going.
    The stairwell to the basement in the northeast corner had crashed down upon itself, so I had cleared out the wreckage and rebuilt a vault-like entrance with rubble molded and bolted atop the door so when it was closed it was camouflaged. Inside the stairwell, I had gone to great lengths to hide sensors and cameras amongst the rubble and destruction. Infrared sensors were hidden near exposed wiring, a UV array was concealed amongst water damaged drywall, the floor was lined with pressure sensors and there were a half-dozen concealed pinhole cameras with IR/UV filters.
    The destruction on the first basement level was too severe, so I had settled on the cramped lower basement. I had a cot in a dark corner with a trunk and an ancient porcelain faucet and toilet that still had running water. Beside the cot was a six-foot tall generator of my own devising. It was a finished model of what I had started at JPL, and could use standard propane tanks or even normal gasoline for fuel. It was silent as a whisper and had about a fraction of the carbon emission of a normal gasoline generator you could buy at the corner hardware store.
    I fired the generator up and it responded with the usual low thrum, the inflow of electricity firing up rows of fluorescent tubes hanging from the roof that successively blinked to life. Attached to them were explosive charges that would blow the whole place sky high in case of an intruder. The whole security system was remote controlled from my computer-watch. I could also phone in a command to self-destruct if that was ever necessary. Not that I was going to do that anytime soon. I had no money to replace it.
    The lab itself was simple. Two twelve foot metal tables in the shape of an L that held all my ongoing experiments. I also had a series of computers, with more than enough processing power and hard disk space to last a lifetime of projects, and a trio of 42” HD displays in a seamless landscape display.
    On the remaining wall was a modest chemistry lab that would probably get me into a lot more trouble with the Department of Homeland Security. The modified Heptanitrocubane alone would net me ten years at Utopia Prison. My chemistry kit was simple, a dry and water bath, several centrifuges and viscometers.
    I wasn’t trying to split the atom here, just tinkering with the miniaturization of several different kinds of arrowheads. I had smoke, flash-bang, EMP and explosive arrowheads with various levels of explosive power. The most powerful thing in my arsenal was an arrowhead with an explosive charge so powerful; I called it “the Nuke.” I had a one tucked in my quiver, but it was for emergencies only. I was frankly afraid to use it, as I didn’t think I could fire the arrow far enough away from me to avoid the blast, and I could bulls eye an arrow at 300 yards.
    Things would have gone differently