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none of the photos did him justice. 
    He was much, much, much sillier looking in person.
    The aforementioned 1930s business suit wasn’t so bad. He was wearing a pleasant looking pair of black slacks, a white silk shirt, and a red vest over the front with suspenders. However, topping the outfit was a typewriter. Literally, he’d arranged for a helmet made to look like an extra-large version of his namesake. It was the most impractical thing I’d ever seen.
    Still, I couldn’t complain about the man’s competence too hard since he’d gotten the drop on me. His golden cane topped with a T was more than it seemed.
    “Did you pay money for that outfit?” I couldn’t help but ask. “If so, you need to ask for a refund.”
    The man in the demon mask pulled back his arm and slammed me in the chest with his fist, almost causing me to pass out from the pain.
    “Oomph!” I eloquently replied. It seemed my superpowers weren’t enough to make punches not hurt like hell.
    “Hi-too-ho, we’ve got someone new! HA-ha-ha-ha-ha!” The Typewriter laughed, shaking as if in ecstasy. It was such a bizarre sight, I was distracted from the fact my plan to deal with the gang and rescue the girl had gone awry.
    “Are you okay?” I asked, perplexed by the man’s behavior.
    The Typewriter jabbed me in the gut with the end of his cane.
    Fool! You didn’t realize my Power-Cane possessed a transdimensional matter disruptor and stun beam! Any and all superpowers from the Nightwalker’s intangibility to Ultragod’s invulnerability are helpless before its power!”
    “Wow. So that’s where your entire budget went. No wonder you couldn’t afford a decent outfit.”
    The man in the demon mask gave me an uppercut across the jaw, sending my head spiraling backward. If he’d hit me with anymore force, he would have knocked my head clean off.
    “Ow! I need those teeth!” My mouth was bleeding. Despite the pain, I grinned. “Where the hell did you learn to be a supervillain? You look like something out of the funny papers.”
    The Typewriter was so ridiculous I couldn’t take him seriously even when he was capable of killing me on a whim. Even the Typewriter’s henchmen looked confounded by his behavior. The man in the demon mask, in particular, looked as if he was embarrassed to be here.
    I didn’t blame him. He had a majesty the others lacked. In a way he looked as familiar as Cindy had, back at the bank. He wasn’t one of my old high school associates, however. They had been more into Live Action Role-Play than looking like a demon-masked Mafia don.
    “Silence! You are in the presence of the great and powerful Typewriter!” The flamboyant supervillain began pacing around in a circle, talking to himself. “They said I was mad, mad I tell you! Well, who is the mad one now?”
    “Did he just say the ‘who’s the mad one now’ line?” I asked, stunned by the man’s complete lack of dignity. “Cloak, didn’t that go out of fashion during the Forties?”
    “ I think it’s even older than that ,” Cloak replied. “ I remember encountering it in 1932. Even then, it was stale .”
    “Just checking.”
    The Typewriter kicked the air and spun around, pointing at me with his cane. “Do not think you can fool my genius-level intellect. Your youthful form does not fool me, foolish man! I’d recognize that costume anywhere: you’re the Nightwalker !”
    I rolled my eyes. “Is this going to be a running theme? I’m getting sick of being mistaken for him.”
    “ Well, I was a rather important part of his costume .”
    “Shut up,” I muttered at my costume. “I’m working an angle here.”
    The man in the demon mask interrupted our debate. “It is not the Nightwalker. I fought him many times.”
    The Typewriter wasn’t listening. “Once I slay you, I shall be acknowledged as the greatest of all supervillains in Falconcrest City!”
    “Hey!” I interrupted him, pissed off. “There’s only going to be one ‘greatest