OK, I'm going to Turbine City and will be incommunicado for a few days. I hope Evergreen City doesn't burn down while I'm gone.
Keep it real, keep pimpin'.
September 07, 2004
Margo Report
Margo is wearing a dark pinstripe pantsuit with pointy-toed shoes, and is wearing more make-up than I usually see her in. Her hair is pulled back. Must be a meeting. I pass her going the opposite way in a hallway – she’s holding a cup of coffee, talking to somebody, some bald guy. I nod and smile. She gives me a little smile and a swat with her free hand and keeps talking to the bald guy. It's like we're buddies now.
We're leaving tomorrow for Turbine City - Margo, Keith, Loretta, and me. Big presentation for InterBionics on Thursday. I was up last night laying out clothes on the bed, trying to pick out the right outfits. I'll wear my blue Egyptian cotton shirt and my dope black fleur-de-lis tie for the presentation, maybe a black sweater and jeans for the flight with my Docs. Wait, maybe not. Maybe just a black tee and jeans. Too casual? Shit, what if Margo sits next to me? I mean, that would be great, but what am I going to talk about? It's a two hour flight to TB, plenty of time for her to learn what a boring asswipe I really am. God, I am neurotic.
We're leaving tomorrow for Turbine City - Margo, Keith, Loretta, and me. Big presentation for InterBionics on Thursday. I was up last night laying out clothes on the bed, trying to pick out the right outfits. I'll wear my blue Egyptian cotton shirt and my dope black fleur-de-lis tie for the presentation, maybe a black sweater and jeans for the flight with my Docs. Wait, maybe not. Maybe just a black tee and jeans. Too casual? Shit, what if Margo sits next to me? I mean, that would be great, but what am I going to talk about? It's a two hour flight to TB, plenty of time for her to learn what a boring asswipe I really am. God, I am neurotic.
September 06, 2004
Hero
I saw Hero last night with Mitch and Lisa - we loved it.
Donny Yen, Jet Li, the incredibly beautiful Zhiyi Zhang, lots of fu and wirework, pretty colors, epic scenery, clouds of arrows, and Shakespearian tragedy... what's not to like? Plus, it was an interesting exploration of morality and ideals and how they shape our destiny. You should go see it, it was fantastic.
We called it an early night afterwards. Lisa's like 6 months pregant so the usual after-movie cocktails was a no-go. I felt like jumping around so I went on patrol.
You'd think I would be in the mood for some ass-kicking after watching a kung fu movie, but I was in zen mode, "in the zone," and I just bounced and jumped around the roofs of Old Town. I get like this sometimes, so focused on motion that I become unfocused, and the roof-running comes very easily.
There was no crime to speak of, which was fine with me.
I did have one amusing anecdote: I was doing the gargoyle bit, perching on a ledge above Queen's Row, watching people come and go into the bars and clubs. I see this guy stagger out of The Red Eye fumbling with his car keys. He's a hipster doofus with a little goatee and tattoo sleeves, and he's tanked.
He sways down the street, then takes a short-cut down an alley. I follow. Maybe somebody will try to mug him and I can beat somebody up -- I mean, defend the weak and powerless. See how fast I switch from zen master to violent thug?
Unfortunately nobody mugs him and he staggers through the alley in perfect safety. His car keys jingle. This asshole's really going to get into a car.
I follow. Check this out, this is a good move: to get down the alley, I jump up on one wall, bounce off against another wall, then bounce back, etc. I rebound all the way down the alley, chipping bricks and rattling fire escapes as I go. I finish off with a roll on to concrete, popping up in a fu pose. I'm awesome.
There's the hipster doofus - across the street, about to climb into his Jeep. I cover the distance in a single jump and land right next to him. He screams, drops his keys.
I pick the keys up. Show them to him. Throw them into space. They'll land in the bay.
I lean closer. He's pissed himself, he's so scared. He smells like gin and cologne.
"Get a cab," I say in my most menacing Batman voice. Then I spring into the air, bounce off a ledge and up on top of a building and I'm gone.
I watch him from the shadows. He makes a phone call and ten minutes later a cab picks him up. I'm pretty chuffed with myself. I got to do a good deed and I got to scare the shit out of some dickhead. Winner!
Donny Yen, Jet Li, the incredibly beautiful Zhiyi Zhang, lots of fu and wirework, pretty colors, epic scenery, clouds of arrows, and Shakespearian tragedy... what's not to like? Plus, it was an interesting exploration of morality and ideals and how they shape our destiny. You should go see it, it was fantastic.
We called it an early night afterwards. Lisa's like 6 months pregant so the usual after-movie cocktails was a no-go. I felt like jumping around so I went on patrol.
You'd think I would be in the mood for some ass-kicking after watching a kung fu movie, but I was in zen mode, "in the zone," and I just bounced and jumped around the roofs of Old Town. I get like this sometimes, so focused on motion that I become unfocused, and the roof-running comes very easily.
There was no crime to speak of, which was fine with me.
I did have one amusing anecdote: I was doing the gargoyle bit, perching on a ledge above Queen's Row, watching people come and go into the bars and clubs. I see this guy stagger out of The Red Eye fumbling with his car keys. He's a hipster doofus with a little goatee and tattoo sleeves, and he's tanked.
He sways down the street, then takes a short-cut down an alley. I follow. Maybe somebody will try to mug him and I can beat somebody up -- I mean, defend the weak and powerless. See how fast I switch from zen master to violent thug?
Unfortunately nobody mugs him and he staggers through the alley in perfect safety. His car keys jingle. This asshole's really going to get into a car.
I follow. Check this out, this is a good move: to get down the alley, I jump up on one wall, bounce off against another wall, then bounce back, etc. I rebound all the way down the alley, chipping bricks and rattling fire escapes as I go. I finish off with a roll on to concrete, popping up in a fu pose. I'm awesome.
There's the hipster doofus - across the street, about to climb into his Jeep. I cover the distance in a single jump and land right next to him. He screams, drops his keys.
I pick the keys up. Show them to him. Throw them into space. They'll land in the bay.
I lean closer. He's pissed himself, he's so scared. He smells like gin and cologne.
"Get a cab," I say in my most menacing Batman voice. Then I spring into the air, bounce off a ledge and up on top of a building and I'm gone.
I watch him from the shadows. He makes a phone call and ten minutes later a cab picks him up. I'm pretty chuffed with myself. I got to do a good deed and I got to scare the shit out of some dickhead. Winner!
September 05, 2004
Exploder Update
So I saw on the news that Exploder was arraigned yesterday. No bail. He’s wanted on a host of arson, property destruction, and murder charges. Exploder’s so dangerous they have him attend court via teleconference from his reinforced cell in The Catacombs. The Feds want him, half a dozen states want him – and who brings him down? Me, thank you.
Leslie Milton says my name again. “—sources tell us that the authorities now believe, based on interviewing Exploder, that the Velvet Marauder was responsible for the villain’s capture.”
I still can’t figure out what he was doing in that train yard that night. It’s probably just one of those weird things I’ll never understand. I’d go crazy trying to make sense of some of the shit that happens to me.
Leslie Milton says my name again. “—sources tell us that the authorities now believe, based on interviewing Exploder, that the Velvet Marauder was responsible for the villain’s capture.”
I still can’t figure out what he was doing in that train yard that night. It’s probably just one of those weird things I’ll never understand. I’d go crazy trying to make sense of some of the shit that happens to me.
September 04, 2004
Patrol Report
Another boring night. It rained on me.
Once I get my armor back from My Guy, I can squat on a rooftop in the rain, waiting for something, anything to happen and I can listen to music. That's a bonus.
Where are all the goddamn muggers in Evergreen City? It's been 3 weeks since I've had a proper mugging.
Once I get my armor back from My Guy, I can squat on a rooftop in the rain, waiting for something, anything to happen and I can listen to music. That's a bonus.
Where are all the goddamn muggers in Evergreen City? It's been 3 weeks since I've had a proper mugging.
September 03, 2004
The wisdom of Fred Schneider
I got a seat on the bus going home tonight and I got to play a little Pokemon on my Gameboy Advanced. I'm addicted to this game; my seagull Pokemon is a total badass.
As I think I've established, I'm not a big fan of the bus. I'm down with the concept of public transportation, I think it's a great idea, but I don't see myself as taking part in it - except maybe for fighting ninjas on top of a speeding monorail or something. I need to get a car.
I don't know if the Honda Element is for me -- my usually reliable coolness radar has failed me, and I can't tell if it's cool in an ironic "I get this car" kind of way, or if it's a soccer dad thing. I solicit my co-worker's opinion on the matter. I think the answers reveal how people think of me.
Q: What kind of car should I get?
SURFER DAVE: You should get one of those new Volkswagen bugs. A pink one.
TODD: What? Who cares?
WOOKIE: A Nissan Murano.
DRAGON LADY: Oh, are you getting a new car?
KIETH: One of those Minis.
CORI: I don't know. Something cute.
MICHAEL CHAN: A Volvo station wagon.
TED THE TACO GUY: A fucking old Saab, dude. Those are cool, you need something retro.
FRED SCHNEIDER*: He's right, a Saab. Those are fabulous. But get a new one.
LORETTA: A Jetta.
Conclusion: Everyone thinks I'm gay.
*Not really Fred Schneider, we just call him that. I think his name's Rob.
As I think I've established, I'm not a big fan of the bus. I'm down with the concept of public transportation, I think it's a great idea, but I don't see myself as taking part in it - except maybe for fighting ninjas on top of a speeding monorail or something. I need to get a car.
I don't know if the Honda Element is for me -- my usually reliable coolness radar has failed me, and I can't tell if it's cool in an ironic "I get this car" kind of way, or if it's a soccer dad thing. I solicit my co-worker's opinion on the matter. I think the answers reveal how people think of me.
Q: What kind of car should I get?
SURFER DAVE: You should get one of those new Volkswagen bugs. A pink one.
TODD: What? Who cares?
WOOKIE: A Nissan Murano.
DRAGON LADY: Oh, are you getting a new car?
KIETH: One of those Minis.
CORI: I don't know. Something cute.
MICHAEL CHAN: A Volvo station wagon.
TED THE TACO GUY: A fucking old Saab, dude. Those are cool, you need something retro.
FRED SCHNEIDER*: He's right, a Saab. Those are fabulous. But get a new one.
LORETTA: A Jetta.
Conclusion: Everyone thinks I'm gay.
*Not really Fred Schneider, we just call him that. I think his name's Rob.
Armor Update
So I got the long-awaited email from My Guy. That’s how he works, you send a package to his P.O. Box, and he sends you an encrypted email that you descramble with My Guy’s custom software, which gives you an address for a private chatroom, where you log in and talk business. It’s all very crypto, I love it.
My Guy designs, repairs, and modifies my armor; he makes my custom weapons and generally keeps me set up with whatever crime-fighting gadgets I need. He’s expensive, but his gear is first-rate, and highly customized. He’s like my Q, my Whistler. I’ve never met the guy. I just place an order via email, wire money to an offshore account, and then receive a package within 4 weeks.
He picks up clients by referral only; Wombat introduced me to him two years ago and he’s been my gear guy ever since. I often wonder who else uses My Guy, aside from Wombat. I’m pretty sure Night Hunter and Major Domo are clients, maybe Boomslang.
My Guy’s brand is his secrecy and exclusivity. You wouldn’t think that he would need a brand, but in the broadest definition of the term, everyone has a brand identity. He doesn’t have a logo or even a name – My Guy’s non-brand is his brand. He doesn’t advertise or need a brand per se, but he has one regardless. The client projects the brand on to the company, gives the company a name, an identity. For instance, I think of My Guy as a barrel-chested Scot who runs a workshop out of an ancient farm on the moors with his three gear-head sons. I’d cast Brian Blessed. For all I know, My Guy could be a woman, or a garage full of guys, or a super villain or something. I don’t know. He may not have an identity, but he has a brand.
Back to the email – I decode it, get the chatroom URL and password, log in to the chatroom and there he is.
I wanted to cut and paste my whole chat with My Guy, but he wouldn’t let me. My Guy’s paranoia is actually a plus for me as a client; it just reassures me that my own secrets are safe.
My Guy says that he’s disappointed with the performance of my suit’s outer shell, so he’ll replace it at a 25% discount. I accept. He wants to put on a new skin made of Nomex and Kevlar, says it’s tougher and more fire-resistant. Sounds good.
I ask him about getting a scanner built in. He says no problem, he can do that. For a few dollars more, I can get a ‘com suite’ installed. It’s a hands-free cel phone, scanner, and MP3 player with headphones and a mike built into the cowl. The unit and controls are housed in a rigid ballistic nylon pouch on my utility belt. Sounds awesome.
We settle on a price, I say I’ll wire him the money. I’ll have my suit in one week.
Hurry, I write. My old suit is chafing.
My Guy designs, repairs, and modifies my armor; he makes my custom weapons and generally keeps me set up with whatever crime-fighting gadgets I need. He’s expensive, but his gear is first-rate, and highly customized. He’s like my Q, my Whistler. I’ve never met the guy. I just place an order via email, wire money to an offshore account, and then receive a package within 4 weeks.
He picks up clients by referral only; Wombat introduced me to him two years ago and he’s been my gear guy ever since. I often wonder who else uses My Guy, aside from Wombat. I’m pretty sure Night Hunter and Major Domo are clients, maybe Boomslang.
My Guy’s brand is his secrecy and exclusivity. You wouldn’t think that he would need a brand, but in the broadest definition of the term, everyone has a brand identity. He doesn’t have a logo or even a name – My Guy’s non-brand is his brand. He doesn’t advertise or need a brand per se, but he has one regardless. The client projects the brand on to the company, gives the company a name, an identity. For instance, I think of My Guy as a barrel-chested Scot who runs a workshop out of an ancient farm on the moors with his three gear-head sons. I’d cast Brian Blessed. For all I know, My Guy could be a woman, or a garage full of guys, or a super villain or something. I don’t know. He may not have an identity, but he has a brand.
Back to the email – I decode it, get the chatroom URL and password, log in to the chatroom and there he is.
I wanted to cut and paste my whole chat with My Guy, but he wouldn’t let me. My Guy’s paranoia is actually a plus for me as a client; it just reassures me that my own secrets are safe.
My Guy says that he’s disappointed with the performance of my suit’s outer shell, so he’ll replace it at a 25% discount. I accept. He wants to put on a new skin made of Nomex and Kevlar, says it’s tougher and more fire-resistant. Sounds good.
I ask him about getting a scanner built in. He says no problem, he can do that. For a few dollars more, I can get a ‘com suite’ installed. It’s a hands-free cel phone, scanner, and MP3 player with headphones and a mike built into the cowl. The unit and controls are housed in a rigid ballistic nylon pouch on my utility belt. Sounds awesome.
We settle on a price, I say I’ll wire him the money. I’ll have my suit in one week.
Hurry, I write. My old suit is chafing.
September 02, 2004
Patrol Report
Nothing happened on patrol last night. I hopped around mid-town until 2 AM. Sat on a ledge, thought about Margo. I'm going to Turbine City with Margo. And some other people.
You might wonder how I manage my nocturnal crimefighting and daytime career without turning into a narcoleptic zombie. I mean, when do I sleep? I actually get about 3 hours of sleep a night, which is plenty. Often I'll take a nap for 1/2 an hour when I get home from work. With my enhanced physiology and altered metabolism, I don't need as much sleep as a normal person. I have to eat like a pig, though.
You might wonder how I manage my nocturnal crimefighting and daytime career without turning into a narcoleptic zombie. I mean, when do I sleep? I actually get about 3 hours of sleep a night, which is plenty. Often I'll take a nap for 1/2 an hour when I get home from work. With my enhanced physiology and altered metabolism, I don't need as much sleep as a normal person. I have to eat like a pig, though.
September 01, 2004
Margo Report
Okay. I'm trying not to be uncool about this. By "uncool" I don't mean "asshole," I mean "not cool." Margo stopped at my desk and talked to me this morning.
She actually had to go out of her way to talk to me, because my desk is set back from the main throughway on the floor. I'd like to emphasize that: Margo Thompson had to actually go out of her way to talk to me.
Wearing a 3/4 sleeve black V-neck sweater and a pleated white skirt, Margo strolled into my cube with some print outs and an Odwalla. She spun and did a little backwards hop, landing her perfect butt on my filing cabinet. She kicked up her feet in a charming, youthful gesture.
I probably gasped. Seriously, every time I see Margo, my stomach drops or my heart skips. I know that sounds corny, but I literally have a physiological reaction whenever I see her. If she suddenly appears in front of me -- say she steps out of the copy room or something -- I actually jump, startled. I wonder if she can tell sometimes. It seems so obvious to me.
Margo flashes me her Margo Grin and says, "Morning, Mackenzie."
"Hey Margo," I manage. I feel dizzy. It's like fighting Vertigo-Go.
"Nice outfit. That's a good color for you."
My ears are buzzing. What did she say? My outfit? I'm wearing chinos and a green bowling shirt and these kick ass black Prada sneakers. "Oh, uh, this old thing?" I actually say that. God, what an absolute wanker I am.
Mistaking my idiocy for wit, she laughs a little. She sort of crinkles her nose when she laughs.
"Hey, you ever been to Turbine City?" she asks.
"Yeah, two years ago I tracked a vampire to Turbine City and killed it in a sewer," I say. Actually, that's what I think of saying. Instead, I just kind of make a strangled affirmative noise.
"Is that a yes?" She cocks here eyebrow like Dr McCoy.
"Yeah, Turbine City. Love it. Hate the Turbos, though."
"Oh my God, they suck, don't they? I hate those guys." If possible, I love her even more now. I happen to know for a fact that the Turbos' quarterback Bret Convy has low range super agility; it just doesn't show up on blood tests. Turbos: worse team in the league.
"Well, their suckiness aside, how'd you like to go to Turbine City and do some of your presentation voodoo next week?"
"Care to elaborate?" I say. I'm trying to be nonchalant. Is she going too?
"We got the green light for Delphi," she says, beaming. Delphi is her baby, I'm just one of the marketing/packaging guys. "InterBionics wants to take a look, and they want us to fly out!"
"Hey, that's great! I'd high five you, but I'd look like a geek."
"No, no, high five me!" she says, jumping up, giddy.
We high five, laughing. It's like a moment.
She actually had to go out of her way to talk to me, because my desk is set back from the main throughway on the floor. I'd like to emphasize that: Margo Thompson had to actually go out of her way to talk to me.
Wearing a 3/4 sleeve black V-neck sweater and a pleated white skirt, Margo strolled into my cube with some print outs and an Odwalla. She spun and did a little backwards hop, landing her perfect butt on my filing cabinet. She kicked up her feet in a charming, youthful gesture.
I probably gasped. Seriously, every time I see Margo, my stomach drops or my heart skips. I know that sounds corny, but I literally have a physiological reaction whenever I see her. If she suddenly appears in front of me -- say she steps out of the copy room or something -- I actually jump, startled. I wonder if she can tell sometimes. It seems so obvious to me.
Margo flashes me her Margo Grin and says, "Morning, Mackenzie."
"Hey Margo," I manage. I feel dizzy. It's like fighting Vertigo-Go.
"Nice outfit. That's a good color for you."
My ears are buzzing. What did she say? My outfit? I'm wearing chinos and a green bowling shirt and these kick ass black Prada sneakers. "Oh, uh, this old thing?" I actually say that. God, what an absolute wanker I am.
Mistaking my idiocy for wit, she laughs a little. She sort of crinkles her nose when she laughs.
"Hey, you ever been to Turbine City?" she asks.
"Yeah, two years ago I tracked a vampire to Turbine City and killed it in a sewer," I say. Actually, that's what I think of saying. Instead, I just kind of make a strangled affirmative noise.
"Is that a yes?" She cocks here eyebrow like Dr McCoy.
"Yeah, Turbine City. Love it. Hate the Turbos, though."
"Oh my God, they suck, don't they? I hate those guys." If possible, I love her even more now. I happen to know for a fact that the Turbos' quarterback Bret Convy has low range super agility; it just doesn't show up on blood tests. Turbos: worse team in the league.
"Well, their suckiness aside, how'd you like to go to Turbine City and do some of your presentation voodoo next week?"
"Care to elaborate?" I say. I'm trying to be nonchalant. Is she going too?
"We got the green light for Delphi," she says, beaming. Delphi is her baby, I'm just one of the marketing/packaging guys. "InterBionics wants to take a look, and they want us to fly out!"
"Hey, that's great! I'd high five you, but I'd look like a geek."
"No, no, high five me!" she says, jumping up, giddy.
We high five, laughing. It's like a moment.
"So are you in?" she says.
"I'm in. So, uhh, who all's going?" Smooth.
"Well, me of course, and Loretta and Keith. And you! I know you haven't worked with our group much, but we're actually really horrible human beings."
I laugh.
There's an awkward moment when we kind of don't say anything, and I feel my face getting hot. "So when are we leaving, what's the schedule? Can I go to the Midnight Rambler Museum?"
"We leave on the 8th, come back on the 10th. Meal expenses and everything. I'll email you the details." She gathers her paper and Odwalla and says, "Nice to have you onboard, Mackenzie."
"Yeah, great!" I say lamely, and then she's gone with a swish of pleated skirt.
I'm going to Turbine City with Margo.
The Batcave II
Okay, have I mentioned that I have a room upstairs completely devoted to my comic book collection? I have two dozen long boxes and a bookshelf full of geek stuff, and some cool posters. I have some Bill Sienkiewicz art on the wall, a kick ass Alex Ross Space Ghost poster, and my pride and joy, some framed Neil Adams Avengers pages. Envy me, fanboy.
Elsewhere in the house is the Secret Chamber, where I keep all my Velvet Marauder stuff.
Without getting into too much detail, I have a hidden door that leads into a room behind my never-used fireplace. I’m pretty sure the renters who lived in the house before me used the Secret Chamber as a grow room, because when I bought the house it smelled like pot in there.
The Secret Chamber is pretty fucking cool. I can’t afford proper subterranean headquarters, but I still wanted it to feel like a superhero hideout, so I kind of went crazy with the interior décor.
A motion sensor triggers recessed lighting when you open the secret door, and a small spotlight illuminates a jumbo Velvet Marauder logo on the opposite wall. My costume is mounted on a pedestal in one corner in a Plexiglas display tube -- sort of like how Batman has the dead Robin costume on display in the Batcave. It's very dramatic, it's got its own little floodlight and everything.
The command console takes up an entire wall of the not-so-big chamber. Honestly, it’s just a computer, a panel of six video screens, and assorted paraphernalia, but all the hardware is mounted into this custom console that makes it look like more “superhero” if you know what I mean. My close-circuit cameras in the front and back of the house feed into the command unit, and get this – if you ring the doorbell, red alert lights switch on in the command center to let me know I have a visitor/intruder. Cool, huh?
I designed the whole chamber myself. The floor is polished black Formica. The walls are covered with dull-finish metal sheeting that look suitably militant. I have a couple steel girders on the ceiling. They’re not load-bearing or anything, they just look like the kind of thing you'd have in a secret headquarters. I threw in a couple of finishing touches like pointless blinking lights and a flat screen video map of Evergreen City on one wall.
I love my Secret Chamber. Most nights I don’t even watch movies in the living room, I just kick it in the Chamber with some pizza and watch DVDs on the command console.
I have this recurring fantasy where Margo finds out my secret identity. She’s over at my house having drinks or something and she accidentally finds the entrance to the Secret Chamber while I’m out of the room. I find her in the Chamber, stunned, checking out the Velvet Marauder set-up. She turns to me and says, “Somehow, I’ve always known.” Then she falls into my arms and we kiss and kiss.
File this fantasy under: "Fat Fucking Chance"
Elsewhere in the house is the Secret Chamber, where I keep all my Velvet Marauder stuff.
Without getting into too much detail, I have a hidden door that leads into a room behind my never-used fireplace. I’m pretty sure the renters who lived in the house before me used the Secret Chamber as a grow room, because when I bought the house it smelled like pot in there.
The Secret Chamber is pretty fucking cool. I can’t afford proper subterranean headquarters, but I still wanted it to feel like a superhero hideout, so I kind of went crazy with the interior décor.
A motion sensor triggers recessed lighting when you open the secret door, and a small spotlight illuminates a jumbo Velvet Marauder logo on the opposite wall. My costume is mounted on a pedestal in one corner in a Plexiglas display tube -- sort of like how Batman has the dead Robin costume on display in the Batcave. It's very dramatic, it's got its own little floodlight and everything.
The command console takes up an entire wall of the not-so-big chamber. Honestly, it’s just a computer, a panel of six video screens, and assorted paraphernalia, but all the hardware is mounted into this custom console that makes it look like more “superhero” if you know what I mean. My close-circuit cameras in the front and back of the house feed into the command unit, and get this – if you ring the doorbell, red alert lights switch on in the command center to let me know I have a visitor/intruder. Cool, huh?
I designed the whole chamber myself. The floor is polished black Formica. The walls are covered with dull-finish metal sheeting that look suitably militant. I have a couple steel girders on the ceiling. They’re not load-bearing or anything, they just look like the kind of thing you'd have in a secret headquarters. I threw in a couple of finishing touches like pointless blinking lights and a flat screen video map of Evergreen City on one wall.
I love my Secret Chamber. Most nights I don’t even watch movies in the living room, I just kick it in the Chamber with some pizza and watch DVDs on the command console.
I have this recurring fantasy where Margo finds out my secret identity. She’s over at my house having drinks or something and she accidentally finds the entrance to the Secret Chamber while I’m out of the room. I find her in the Chamber, stunned, checking out the Velvet Marauder set-up. She turns to me and says, “Somehow, I’ve always known.” Then she falls into my arms and we kiss and kiss.
File this fantasy under: "Fat Fucking Chance"
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