Chapter 262: Saviour Of The Industry [Edited]

The private penthouse office sat high above the glowing city of Chicago.

Inside, the room was vast and stylish, with wide glass walls overlooking the city lights. There were no heavy desks or boring file cabinets. Instead, the center of the office featured a custom indoor putting green, a leather sofa, and a fully stocked wet bar.

Larry stood on the edge of the artificial grass, wearing a loose, expensive linen shirt and tailored slacks. He held a polished golf putter in his hands, carefully lining up a shot toward a small plastic cup on the floor.

He tapped the white ball. It rolled smoothly across the green turf and missed the cup by two inches.

"Ah, pulled it to the left!" Larry laughed, shaking his head. He didn’t look angry at all. He simply smiled and tossed the putter onto the sofa. "I always pull it to the left. You’d think a guy with my resources could buy a better swing. Oh well!"

Standing completely still by the floor-to-ceiling window was Specimen B.

B looked exactly like Phantom. He had the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline, and the same lean, athletic build. But there was something very different about him. While Phantom was calm and grounded, B carried a cold, tightly controlled hostility. His dark eyes stared down at the city, watching tiny headlights move along the highway.

His body was fully healed. The massive internal injuries he had suffered during the warehouse fight were completely gone, repaired by advanced bio-serums and his own accelerated healing.

"You seem very relaxed for a man facing a dozen federal charges," B said, his voice flat and perfectly matching Phantom’s tone.

"Haha! Am I?" Larry walked over to the wet bar and picked up a crystal decanter. He poured himself a glass of amber liquid. "Want one, buddy? It’s fifty years old. Tastes like expensive dirt, but the rich guys love it."

"No," B replied without turning away from the window.

"Suit yourself," Larry said, taking a sip and sighing happily. "And to answer your question, yes, I am relaxed. Why shouldn’t I be? The Association is throwing a massive temper tantrum. Eric and his little High Council are suing me for everything. Illegal cloning, corporate espionage, reckless endangerment, unauthorized genetic tampering. They filed a hundred pages of complaints!"

Larry threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoing across the large office.

"They actually sent a process server to my lobby," Larry chuckled, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "A poor kid in a cheap suit, trying to hand me court papers. It’s hilarious! They think a judge and a jury are going to stop me. They really think the legal system applies to people who fund the city’s defense grid."

B finally turned away from the window and looked at Larry with cold, unblinking eyes.

"The initial plan failed," B said simply. "I did not ruin his reputation. I did not frame him. Phantom was stronger than we expected. He stopped us, and he nearly killed me. The entire plan to take his identity is ruined."

"Oh, yeah. That went up in smoke," Larry agreed cheerfully. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, kicking his feet up onto the glass coffee table. "But hey, that’s science, right? We try something, we learn from it, and we change what didn’t work. We learned a lot! We learned that Phantom is a freak of nature. He punches way above his weight class. But we also learned that my cloning process is flawless. You survived, didn’t you?"

"I survived," B said, his jaw tightening. "But I did not win."

"Details, details," Larry said, waving his hand dismissively. "The whole framing thing was just a fun little side project. A creative way to mess with the High Council. It didn’t work. Fine. We move on. That’s what smart businessmen do, B. We move on to the next idea."

B narrowed his eyes. "What new strategy?"

Larry smiled, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. For a brief moment, his playful expression changed, revealing the sharp mind hidden beneath all the jokes.

"Tell me, B," Larry asked, his voice dropping slightly. "Why do heroes exist?"

"To fight impures. To stop threats. To enforce the law," B answered mechanically.

"Wrong! Haha, completely wrong!" Larry laughed, pointing at the clone. "That’s what they print on the recruitment posters! That’s what they teach the kids at the academy. But look at the reality. Look at the money."

Larry stood and slowly walked across the room.

"The hero industry is a business, my friend," Larry explained, spreading his hands. "It is a massive, multi-billion-dollar machine. You have broadcast rights, merchandise, weapon manufacturing, armor contracts, corporate sponsorships, and public tax funding. The Association employs thousands of people. They have headquarters in every major city. They have fleets of vehicles and private satellites."

Larry took another sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Now, ask yourself," Larry continued, a wide grin spreading across his face. "What happens if there are no villains? What happens if the streets are completely safe? What happens if every low-level impure is caught, and there are no big, scary monsters left to fight?"

B stared at him without saying a word.

"I’ll tell you what happens," Larry said softly, chuckling. "The money stops. The public stops watching the broadcasts. The government cuts their funding because they don’t need a massive army of super-powered soldiers just to write parking tickets. Without villains, heroes are just overpaid traffic cops in silly costumes. They lose their fame, they lose their purpose, and most importantly, they lose their budget."

Larry walked over and placed a hand on B’s shoulder.

"Eric and the High Council hate me," Larry said with a bright smile. "They want to throw me in a dark hole. But the truth is, I am the true savior of the hero industry. I am the one keeping them employed! When I create monsters, when I fund people willing to cause trouble, I am giving the heroes a reason to exist. I provide the darkness so they can pretend to be the light. I am doing them a massive favor!"

B looked down at Larry’s hand on his shoulder, then back up at his smiling face.

"So," B said coldly. "You want me to be the darkness."

"Exactly!" Larry laughed, pulling his hand back and walking toward the bar to refill his glass. "The whole ’evil twin’ act is over. You don’t have to pretend to be Phantom anymore. The Association knows you exist. They know you have his face. We aren’t going to hide it. I want you to stop pretending to be him."

Larry turned around, leaning against the marble counter of the bar.

"I want you to operate openly," Larry said, his tone cheerful but direct. "No more hiding in warehouses. No more sneaking around trying to ruin someone’s reputation. I want you to be a supervillain. A real, terrifying monster. I want you to walk into the middle of the street and start breaking things."

A dark, dangerous light flickered in B’s eyes.

"No restrictions?" B asked, his voice dropping into a low, threatening tone.

"None," Larry said happily. "The Association is suing me because they think they have the upper hand. I want you to show them that they don’t. I want you to bring out their strongest heroes. I want you to destroy parts of the city’s defenses. I want you to make the evening news every single night."

Larry took a step forward, his smile turning sharp.

"They want to play games in a courtroom," Larry said. "I want you to remind them why they need guys like me in the first place. You have Phantom’s speed, his strength, and the way he fights. But unlike him, you don’t care about saving people. You don’t have a conscience holding you back."

B slowly clenched his hands into fists. The knuckles popped sharply in the quiet room.

Ever since the fight in the warehouse, B had been filled with quiet rage. He hated the original. He hated that Phantom had looked at him with pity. He hated the fact that he was just a copy. But more than anything, he hated having to hold himself back. When he was pretending to be Phantom, he had to act like a hero and limit his power so that no one would realize how different he really was.

Now, he was free to use everything he had.

"I will break them," B said. It wasn’t a boast. It was a cold, absolute fact.

"Haha! That’s the spirit!" Larry cheered, raising his glass into the air. "I knew you’d like the new plan! Go out there and have fun, B. See what you can really do. Let the Association send their strongest heroes. Let them send their biggest names."

Larry took a large gulp of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And if Phantom shows up?" Larry asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk.

B’s face remained perfectly still, but a heavy, crushing pressure suddenly filled the room. The air seemed to grow dense, and the crystal decanter on the bar rattled slightly against the marble counter.

"If he shows up," B said, his voice filled with raw hatred, "I will show him that the copy is better than the original. I will tear him apart in front of the cameras."

"Perfect!" Larry laughed, completely unaffected by the frightening energy coming from the clone. He walked back over to his indoor putting green and picked up his golf club. "I love the enthusiasm! It’s going to be great for the broadcast ratings."

Larry dropped another white golf ball onto the turf and lined up his shot, still smiling brightly.

"Go make some noise, buddy," Larry said, tapping the ball with his putter. "Make me look good."

The ball rolled across the artificial grass and dropped perfectly into the plastic cup with a hollow clatter.

Larry cheered, throwing his hands into the air. "Hey! I finally made one! Look at that!"

When Larry turned around to celebrate, the spot by the window was empty. Specimen B was gone, leaving only the cold draft of the Chicago night air blowing through the slightly open glass door.

Larry chuckled, taking another sip of his expensive drink. He looked out over the glittering city, a massive, playful smile stretching across his face.

"Showtime," Larry whispered.