Anne stood in front of the bathroom mirror, an old penny sitting just to the left of her hand.
There was still another two hours before The Exxterminator’s party.
A part of her wanted to call Shade — just to have someone to talk to, to fill the silence with.
But that wasn’t a sharp idea. The Exxterminator’s last known whereabouts would inevitably be linked to Anne. If anyone realized that Shade and her were talking right after The Exxterminator’s disappearance, it would clue them into the fact that Shade had transported the corpse.
So Anne sat there. Alone. By herself.
The place stank of bleach. She rubbed her nose, moving into the bedroom.
Hers was the nicest room on campus. It had the nicest view, but the price tag soured the appeal for most people.
That was one of the nice things about being a super genius: the giant death mech she’d built ended up having military applications. Because she’d used it in a crime, the government was able to just take it without paying her. But they’d still given her a huge scholarship, in the hopes that she’d build more stuff they could use.
That was the way it went with a lot of evil geniuses. They’d get non-obvious government funding, which allowed them to built the giant death traps that superheroes destroyed. The military then got the broken weapons for free, using them to develop their own ideas.
Instead of giving the geniuses health care, you gave them resources. Instead of rehab they became enabled, diving deeper and deeper into mad science.
The mad science of evil geniuses almost always ended up supporting the US military. Which was the best or worst thing they did, depending on who you asked.