Dave Indigo was the son of Francis Indigo, better known as Doctor Infenso. His father was the most dangerous and cruel villain to ever blight the earth, Dave has a liberal arts degree. He is known simply as: Minion Eighteen

Lord Ferro's voice echoed through the lab. “Minion Eighteen! Report to the genetics wing for testing.” I sighed, he seemed to have it out for me. I survived more tests than any henchman in recent memory, so much so that my henchmates have a betting pool going.

Ferro was obsessed with making me 'worthwhile,' he was my father's best and brightest pupil. He seemed to have some strange idea about my 'carrying on the legacy of terror.' If it weren't for the fringe benefits, I might seriously consider quitting.

I walked to the genetics lab with a bit of trepidation, my luck was astonishing in a way. Most people are horribly maimed, killed, made into hideous monstrosities, develop super powers, or some combination of such. My eye colour changed from brown to green, and that was the only noticeable effect out of thousands of tests.

The current theory among the other henchmen is that I developed the super power of being immune to super-science early on.

Ferro beckoned me in as I entered, he was an odd man. Metallic skin, genius intellect, violent sociopathy... Everything my father wished of me, except for the skin part I'd wager. Though, my father was a weird man.

Ferro smiled at me, and started fiddling with the genetic manipulator. He grabbed a vial from a shelf labelled 'BNA,' I assume because they were out of 'D' shaped decals. He held it up to the light to read the label. “Ah, one Miss Alexandria 'Plasticia' Darrow. A rubber henchman would be quite useful.”

Plasticia was one of a handful of heroes to retire from the business, back in the eighties I believe. She works at the Librarium last I heard. I didn't question how Ferro had her BNA.

Ferro placed the vial in a machine that looked very much like a water heater with a door. It had plastic tubes and wires and lights strapped to it. At Ferro's beckoning I stepped into the chamber.

Vivaldi's Le Quattro Stagioni was playing as pinkish-grey fluid started flooding the chamber. It felt oddly nice, tingly and warm. Like cinnamon gum. By the time it was up to my knees I was growing woozy.

The smell hit me, it was like latex and copper. I was starting to get claustrophobic, but I carried on. Ferro would accept no less from me. The gunk was up to my navel now, it was heavy and thick. Like honey, but not sticky.

By the end of La Primavera the tank was totally full. I could still hear the music, but it was as though from far away. I felt it in my bones more than anything. I zoned out for a while, but noticed the tank start to drain at about halfway through L'inverno. The door opened to the last few notes, and I collapsed forward.

I came to sometime later strapped to a table. Ferro was standing over me, frowning. “Son, I have bad news. Your body is... Well degrading.” I gave him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

He shook a jar full of strange liquid. “This was your uniform, your body will do the same thing.” A chill ran up my spine. “Can you fix it?” Ferro shrugged. “Kid, I respected your father... But you are just a henchman. It's just more cost effective to-” I moved through my binds and punched him in the face.

My fist kind of squished into his face, but the force was enough to send him backward. I ran out of the med bay and through the lab. Sirens were sounding, and I made a rash decision. I jumped out the window, on the fortieth floor.

I landed on the street with a splat, it took me about five minutes to pull myself together. I felt really weird, like my whole body was numb. I ran toward the gas station a few blocks away, my legs felt and acted like jelly.

I opened the phone box and dialled a number that anyone who lives in New Amsterdam knows. “Hello, this is the New Amsterdam Office of Costumed Heroism. How may we help you today?” I frowned, but answered her. “Medical emergency, lab accident. Unlicensed super-science.”

She tutted, but I think she got the idea. “Sir? I have dispatched a transport to your location, they will arrive shortly.”

By the time the hovercar arrived I was having trouble breathing. The men tried to help me in to the car, but I was too slippery. I managed to struggle in myself. The car dropped me off at the Ichor Centre for Metahuman Studies, I was gathered up by some more men. They put me in some sort of crate.

The next thing I know I'm in another tank, and someone is talking to me through a speaker set. “Sir? We isolated the problem, and are going to try to reverse then neutralize the vectors.” The tank fills very quickly. The liquid is clear, cold, and almost unnaturally light.

I spent several hours in the tank, but I could feel myself solidifying. My hair started to float around me. There was something odd about that thought, but I was too woozy to figure out what.

The tank slowly drained, and I was led out by an older man wearing a labcoat. “It's alright, but there's been a slight complication...” I was sat down on a bed.

I was still woozy, but I heard the word 'complication' sure enough. “What happened?” My voice sounded weird. The scientist cringed. “Eh, well...” He handed me a mirror. The face I saw in the mirror was enough to snap me out of my funk. “What the hell? I'm a girl.”

The scientist nodded. “It seems that you were exposed to some sort of vector designed to infuse you with metahuman DNA, the problem was that it was highly unstable. We couldn't redesign the vector to sync with your DNA, so we redesigned your genetic structure to be compatible.”

I frowned. “So, I'm a woman because...” He sighed. “Uh, well we identified the metahuman mutation as belonging to Plasticia. We tried several combinations, her as your mother, her as your father, both of your parents in either role, and even as a gender reversed clone of her. None were sucessful, and time was not on our side.”

I looked at my face in the mirror, I still resembled my father as I always did. There was no trace of my mother, and my hair was black. It used to be dirty blond. I was disappointed to find my eyes still green.

I looked up at him. “Can I change back?” He frowned. “Not likely, at least not until we understand more about metahuman genetics. This institute's been here for decades, and we've barely scratched the surface. Though, there's a chance that if you refine your new abilities enough you could change yourself back.”

I looked down at my hands. They were small, and dainty. I grabbed onto my finger and pulled, my finger stretched. It was harder than I expected, it felt just like it always did. Fingery. It snapped back when I let go.

The scientist was interested. “Hmm, you seem to be elastic. Plasticia was of course plastic. Curious.”

I laid myself back on the bed, and noticed that I was wearing a robe. “What do I do? I lost my job, and how am I going to prove my iden-” I was interrupted. “Relax, the OCH will fix everything. All you have to do is apply as a member.”

I cringed. “I am, or was I suppose, a henchman of Lord Ferro.” The scientist's eyes shot up. “Maximus Ferro? That shouldn't be too much of an issue, you might have to pass a psychic screening but they should accept you no problem. Especially if you pass on some inside info.”

Turning on Ferro, I smirked. That would show up that asshole, but could I really make it as a hero? I supposed it couldn't be too different from being a henchman. “Alright, I'll sign up. Couldn't hurt.”

The scientist nodded, and stuck out his hand. “Welcome aboard.” I shook his hand, but gave him an odd look. “Isn't that a bit premature?”

He shrugged. “I guess, but I like to trust my instincts. If the psychic okays you, then I don't see any reason to not allow you to join our little group.” I looked at him more closely. The cut of his jaw, the salt and pepper hair, the steely eyes... I can't believe I didn't notice before, I was talking with Captain Ichor the whole time! “Ichor?”

He nodded and flashed his million dollar grin. “Rest a bit, I'm sure you're exhausted. I'll have one of our mentalists get you sorted later.” Now that he mentioned it, I was rather tired.

I went to sleep thinking of the big day that was sure to come.

To Be Continued...