Calm, Especially Over Breakfast

I wake up with a pounding in my skull that feels like I've been hit with my own damn lightning bolt. Groaning, I stumble out of bed and drag my ass to the kitchen for some coffee, hoping it'll zap me back to life. Clonica's already there, nursing a cup of joe and munching on pastries like it's the end of the world.

As soon as she sees me, Clonica grins, her mouth full. "Looks like you've got a case of the brain-fucks too, huh? Must be that damn ray gun hangover." She's always had a way with words…

"Is Mark up yet?" I ask her with a groan.

She smirks, licking some pastry filling off her finger. "Oh, he's up, alright," she says with a wink. "But still in bed, if you catch my drift."

I pour myself a cup of coffee, noticing the lack of Sienna's usual early bird routine. She's always been the one to make sure I start my day with a decent breakfast, and I feel a twinge of sadness realizing she's not just out from under my thumb, but now directly under Mark's. It's like losing a piece of my morning ritual.

"Sienna's with him, isn't she?" I ask, though it's more of a statement. "Fucking him?"

Clonica's grin widens. "Like a champ. She went to wake him up with her mouth. Seems pretty damn eager about it, too."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "And why aren't you in there, joining the party? Not like you to pass up on a good time."

She leans back, a playful glint in her eyes. "Who says I'm not?" she teases.

As I rub the sleep from my eyes and try to shake off the headache, I can't help but feel the pull of my loyalty to Mark. "Should I… go join them?" I ask, half out of duty, half out of a desire to be where the action is.

Clonica, with a mouthful of pastry, waves a hand dismissively. "Trust me, sweetheart, that room's got more tail than a pet store. I doubt there's room for you to even breathe in there," she says, and I can tell she's only half-joking.

Slightly frustrated but weirdly okay with it, I grab a croissant from the basket and take a big bite. I'm just realizing that knowing Mark's getting his rocks off has a strange way of making me feel content, even if I'm not the one doing the pleasing.

Just as I'm pouring myself another cup of coffee, Dr. Mind strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, which is a fucking weird sight to see. "Good morning, ladies," he greets us, with that polished accent of his that makes everything sound like a royal decree.

Clonica and I exchange a look before we return the greeting, the air thick with the oddity of having a supervillain casually searching for breakfast among us.

He chuckles, pulling out a box of cereal from the cupboard. "I must say, the young master does seem to be having quite the delightful morning," he says, and even though his words are light, there's a weight behind them that tells me he's still adjusting to this new reality.

I frown, the weight of reality sinking in. "You've been careful, right? No one can trace you back here?" I ask Dr. Mind, the paranoia gnawing at me despite the absurdity of the situation. The old man just chuckles, clearly amused by the idea.

"My dear, your lair is the absolute last place anyone would expect to find me. I assure you, my escape was meticulous," he replies, his confidence almost irritating.

Clonica, ever the pragmatist despite her crude sense of humor, chimes in. "We'd better keep our eyes peeled for any heat about your little 'vacation' from the slammer, though," she says. Dr. Mind nods in agreement, shoveling in another spoonful of cereal.

For a few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of us munching on our breakfast, sipping coffee, lost in our own thoughts. Then it hits me—the sheer ridiculousness of it all. I burst out laughing, and soon Dr. Mind and Clonica join in, their chuckles filling the kitchen.

It's a bizarre picture: two superpowered women and one supervillain, all sharing a meal and bound by mind control to some average Joe who got lucky. The irony of it is just too damn funny.

My head's still pounding like a bad hangover as I pour myself another cup of coffee, and then the bedroom door swings open. In walks Mark, flanked by a small army of sweaty and thoroughly disheveled Clonicas and one particularly satisfied-looking Sienna. They're a mess of tangled hair and flushed skin, and it's clear they've had one hell of a morning.

As the Clonicas saunter in, they start to merge back into the original, standing next to me at the counter with a satisfied smirk on her face. Her hair's sticking up in places it wasn't before, and her clothes are twisted in a way that says she's been rolling around in the sheets.

Mark plops down at the table with Sienna, who's looking more content than I've ever seen her. I can't stop my gaze from lingering on her, my fiery assistant, who's always been more to me than just a sidekick. Jealousy should be gnawing at me, but instead, there's this strange sense of pride that she's served Mark well.

Mark turns to Dr. Mind, who's still polishing off his breakfast like he's got all the time in the world. "Any bright ideas on how you can put that big brain to work for me?" Mark asks, with a hint of challenge in his voice.

Dr. Mind sets his spoon down, ready to launch into a monologue about his intellectual prowess. But then he catches himself, realizing that all his smarts don't mean jack if he doesn't know what Mark wants. "What is it you desire, sir?" he asks, with a deference that's almost comical coming from someone who used to be top dog.

Mark's smirk spreads across his face like a crackling current, and he leans back in his chair, all casual-like. "Can we make the ray gun a bit more… discreet? Smaller, maybe? Something that doesn't look like a damn retro toy. Oh, and can you make the ray invisible and silent while you're at it?"

Dr. Mind's bushy eyebrows twitch, and for a second it looks like he's about to launch into a defense of his masterpiece's aesthetic, but he cuts himself off. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, the gears clearly turning in that big brain of his. "I'll do my best," he concedes after a moment, the old pride of an artist surrendering to the practicality of a craftsman.

"And what about the whole 'having to gaze into my eyes' thing?" Mark presses on, clearly not done with his wish list. "Can't we skip that step? Make it automatic or something?"

The question seems to prick at Dr. Mind's ego just a tad, but he's quick to school his features into that placid, servant's mask. "It's… tricky," he admits, pushing his cereal bowl aside. "Even if I could weave the imprinting process into the ray's effect, it would never be as effective as the victims seeing you in person immediately after being zapped. The direct connection is essential for the loyalty to take hold."

I lean against the kitchen counter, my headache subsiding enough to let curiosity take the wheel. "So, Mark, what's the endgame here? How can we help?" I watch him closely, my instincts still sharp as ever despite the ray's influence.

Mark takes a moment, his smirk lingering as he contemplates his next move. "Last night was a close call. We need to be more careful, more discreet. You and Clonica are tough as nails, but two supers ain't gonna cut it if shit hits the fan. We need a wider variety of skills around here."

Clonica, who's still smoothing out her hair from the merge, snorts. "Variety, huh? I bet you're talking about more than just combat skills." Her voice drips with innuendo, and Mark's confirming nod and smirk tells me she's hit the nail on the head.

An idea sparks in my head, bright as the electricity I wield. "I've been chatting with some high rollers, thinking about starting my own league of supers. It'd be the perfect cover for what you're looking for," I tell him, the plan unfolding in my mind like a blueprint.

I turn to Clonica, who's already eyeing me with interest. "You could leave your current gig, help me kickstart this new league. Staying here's raising eyebrows, and we need to play this smart."

Mark nods, clearly on board. "I like it, Kat. I want to help you make it happen," he says, his voice gentle but determined. "Outside of keeping me safe and satisfying a few… urges, you've got free rein to do your thing."

It's a strange sort of freedom, all things considered. But it's enough to get the wheels turning, and I'm already listing potential recruits in my head. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it big—and we're gonna do it right.

Dr. Mind speaks up with a refined tone, "If I am to make the suggested modifications to the ray gun, we could potentially persuade even the most formidable supers to join our ranks. It would certainly cover Mark's needs." He pauses, a calculating glint in his eye. "And perhaps, recruiting some villains might be beneficial if we are to have a full spectrum of abilities at our disposal."

I nod along, but Clonica's frown cuts through the planning session. "We gotta tread lightly, people," she warns, her voice laced with a seriousness that's rare for her. "There are supers out there who can read minds. Don't think for a second they won't pick up on us being brainwashed." She's right, and the gravity of her words sinks in.

Mark considers this, his smirk fading into a look of contemplation. "If we turn some of those mind readers to our side, and maybe snag a couple of mind controllers, it could work to our advantage," he muses, the wheels clearly turning in his head.

Dr. Mind, however, isn't one to let optimism cloud his judgment. "While I have been perfecting rays that could potentially control even those with psychic defenses, I cannot guarantee efficacy across the board. Mind readers are a tricky bunch," he admits, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he stirs his thoughts with his breakfast.

Everyone around the table shares a moment of silent understanding. The plan is solid, but the risks are as high as the city's skyscrapers. I take a deep breath, feeling the electric charge of challenge in the air. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

Mark's got that look in his eye, the one that says he's done talking strategy for now. "We're steering clear of mind readers for the time being," he says, and I can't help but agree. "Kat, I want you to start on that league. Get me a list of the best supers you think we can convince with the updated ray gun." He pauses and gives me a look that's downright serious. "They need to be powerful, skillful, and hot as fuck."

I can't help but let out a snort, and Clonica joins me with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What a shocker," she quips, "Mark wants his own supermodel army."

We all share a good laugh, the tension easing out of the room like air from a balloon. I'm already flipping through my mental rolodex of heroes, ticking off names and abilities, and yeah, hotness.

"I'll get on it," I tell Mark, feeling that familiar thrill of a new mission. It's fucked up, sure, forming a league by playing puppeteer with the best heroes out there. But considering I'm now wired to serve the whims of a kid who stumbled into super-villainy, things could be a hell of a lot worse. Mark's not out to hurt anyone beyond his growing harem, and hell, this league could actually do some good around town.

Time to get to work.