Post by johnreiter902 on Sept 19, 2018 21:00:34 GMT
Martin Trager was in the prison hospital again.
The Doctor chuckled a little about it when he saw him. “So, Martin,” he said with undue positivity, “You shot your mouth off again didn’t you? You should relax, man. WE all know you’re a supervillain. After all, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
*(Editor’s Note, see Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen #23)
Back then, Martin had called himself the Mind-Robber. He was one of the first of the modern generation of supervillains, though the name was just being coined then. He though he was pretty hot stuff in those days. When he was a kid he discovered he could read people’s mind’s and hear what they were thinking. As he got older, he learned how to dig around in people’s heads and find out anything they knew.
Being a true mind-reader meant he could do things no crook had ever done before. He could learn security precautions, and codes right from the minds of the owners and managers of banks or jewelry stores. Before long, he had his own gang, and was living high on the hog.
At first, the new supervillains in the cell block laughed at him. Then, over time, when they got bored, they started to put him in the hospital.
Frustrated, Martin reached out with his mind toward the retreating doctor. It was mostly reflex. Once, he had punished disrespect in his gang by probing the offender’s mind for dirty secrets and threatening to reveal them. His attempt this time was blocked, however, as it had been for years. All the staff in the prison wore Dayton Mental Shields these days, to minimize escape attempts by telepaths.
Groaning, he sunk back into his bed. He had two cracked ribs, and he wasn’t leaving this bed for a while. Maybe he could use the peace and quite, but at the moment what he wanted was something to distract himself.
Desperately, he reached out with his mind again, questing among the minds of the other hospital inmates. Most of the thoughts were old hat, the usual ranting of prison business, nearly all of them were minds he had probed before.
Then, suddenly, he encountered a new mind, one that was thinking very interesting thoughts.
It’s all Batman’s fault I’m here. Oh, how I wish I could kill him. These idiots! I hate when they talk over me. Don’t they know I’m Eddie Repp, the man who almost killed Batman?
Hey buddy, Trager sent, what’s up?
W-What, W-Who said that, O God O God it’s finally happening, I’m losing my mind!
Relax man, relax, you’re not losing it. Quickly, Martin explained about his powers and said who he was.
The Mind-Robber, eh? Never heard of you.
Martin bristled. Well, I’ve never heard of any guy named Eddie Repp almost killing Batman before. What kind of supervillain are you?
I’m the best! There was a sense of aggravation and frustration in his mental voice which struck a sympathetic cord in the Treger. In 1977 I made a machine that could create electronic “ghost.” I could make them look like anybody. They could fly, turn invisible, move at the speed of light, even teleport. And best of all, I could make them intangible, solid, or any combination, so they make their hands old enough to hit people, and grab loot, and still be untouchable. Plus, their strength was powered by electricity, so they could hit like jackhammers.
Wow. That actually sounded impressive. You said you almost killed Batman. How’d you do that? He asked with real curiosity.
It was incredible! Eddie was clearly anxious to brag. First I tested the device by creating electric ghosts in the shape of Batman and Robin. I used them to clean up all the other gangs in Gotham. I didn’t want any competition, you see? After a while, the real Batman and Robin stopped appearing at all. I guess they thought some new heroes had made them obsolete. Then I created a new set of ghosts, in the form of standard thug-types. I called them my Ghost Gang, and I started stripping Gotham clean. When Batman tried to stop me, I had my ghosts beat him to the brink of death. I only let him live to show him how little he mattered to me.
Impressive, Martin sent. Privately, he thought. How can a guy so smart be so dumb? He had apparently designed a perfect weapon, and he used it to steal money. Worse, he left Batman alive when he could have finished him.
So, where around here are you Eddie?
Third bed from the end I think. I can’t turn my head, but I remember seeing where it was when they brought me in.
The Mind-Robber turned his head and looked to the man in question. He was overweight, with thinning dark hair and atrophied limbs, dressed in some kind of hospital gown.
Wow, what happened to you man? He asked. How’d you end up like this?
It’s all Batman’s fault! Eddie said, breaking into another rant. That was how he caught me. He covered the loot my Ghost Gang stole in some kind of radioactive poison. Just when I was about to order them to kill him, I suddenly couldn’t move! He paralyzed me. He ruined my life because it was the only way he could beat me!* He snarled internally. But he didn't get my machine, the radiation fried it completely. I'm the only one who knows the secret of it.
* (Editor’s note. A somewhat biased recollection of the events of Batman #175)
So you’ve been stuck like this ever since 1977? No wonder he sounded more than a little stir crazy.
Yes. It’s been like a nightmare. The Wayne Medical Institute has been trying to cure me for years, but they finally gave up and said there was nothing more they could do for me. So they transferred me to the state penitentiary to serve out the rest of my sentence, and after that, I heard them say, I’ll probably live the rest of my life in a nursing home.
That’s too bad man. Really too bad. Trager’s mind was racing with possibilities.
For the next couple of hours he ‘conversed’ with Repp telepathically. The man craved conversation like a starving man craved food. All the while, Martin kept bringing the conversation back around to the Electric Ghost Machine, its capabilities and how to operate it.
But, despite his emotional state, Eddie remained guarded about the details. No dice man. I like you, but I’m not telling anybody how my machine works, no matter what. Tell you what, though, both our sentences are going to run out in a couple of months, if I’m right. Why don’t we go into business together? I’ll need somebody to talk through and a pair of hands to rebuild the device.
The Mind-Robber chuckled softly. Repp, I like you. Honestly, you’re a lot like me. . .
Thanks.
. . . but this could be my big break, the biggest break ever to fall in my lap in my whole career. And I don’t intend to share it with anyone.
He rolled over and looked Eddie Repp right in the eyes. Did I forget to mention why I’m called the Mind-Robber?
Ruthlessly, he plunged into Eddie’s mind, raiding his most tightly secured thoughts. Ahh, there we are. He sifted out the memories of Repp building his device, the details of its construction and the principles behind it. He mentally “picked up” each memory, and carefully impressed it into his own permanent memory. In a few seconds, he had achieved the results of a day’s worth of memorization.
Repp had been screaming in incoherent rage all this time, later devolving into whimpers of pain as his mind was violated. Hmm, there’s a lot more here than I expected, the Mind-Robber admitted. And I’m not the technical wizard you are Eddie, I think we’ll have to repeat this a few more times before I leave, just to be sure I don’t forget anything.
With that, he tuned out the frantic thoughts of the other man and settled down to a, very contended, nap.