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Warning: The following story contains swearing, and otherwise violent statements. If you are one of the rare people on the internet that cares about that, this is not the story for you.

With all these movies about super heroes coming out, I thought it was about time that we saw the villain’s perspective.

There is only one problem with that…

He’s insane.

A flash fiction called:

Villain

—

Why not just kill everyone?

It was such a simple thought really, but as I stood there, it gathered more and more appeal. There was no reason not to do it, and it certainly would take the edge off an otherwise frustrating day. That bank teller had been so very curt with me; then that bitch at the restaurant had the audacity to bring me the wrong food, twice. That is not even mentioning the sheer amount of horrible people I had the displeasure of walking past today. That woman had been talking on her phone through a good five minutes of the movie. Those chattering teenagers behind me with their phones, and their oh so important lives. They certainly did not deserve to live, and no one else was going to handle the problem, so why not me?

It would only take a few minutes, and this entire street would be free of them. Blissful silence would ring across the street and soar up the skyscrapers. Maybe afterwards I could even get some coffee. Assuming I did not splatter blood on the cappuccino machine this time. I am not opposed to the taste, but gore does not froth well.

It took a minute to plan out the exact details of it, but time was not an issue anyway. The streets of Chicago would not empty out anytime soon. Just another reason that I needed to do this charity. Having worked out the subtleties of mass murder, I started walking towards the street. A few cars honked and skidded around me, leaving tire tracks on the pavement. A few even went so far as to ram into me. They flipped right over, slamming down and spraying glass everywhere; a corpse even flew out of the front, blond pigtails entangling with the glass shards and the rocks of shattered asphalt. It was frankly, hilarious.

My mood was already rising by the second, I could feel my feet do a rhythm-less dance as I sashayed towards the center median. I even went so far as to kick a jeep into a nearby café. Apparently I was not a fan of glass today, as the window also shattered and sprayed into the air.

The cell phones had started to come out, as they always did. Everyone who was not running for their lives was filming me it seemed. A television copter was already on its way, broadcasting my spree for all the world to see.

Oh, that rhymed, didn’t it? Isn’t destruction just so much fun?

Anyhow, I made it to my planned platform, and I finally got to do a proper full turn to see the carnage I already started. Mostly shattered cars, and a few fires had broken out. It was a rather small start, but I suppose every genocide must start small. But now, now it was show time.

I dropped my glamor, listening to it crumble around me with an audible thud. It felt so good to look proper again, none of that normal crap. My cane and fedora sprang into reality, and I grabbed them both from the air. I did a little hand trick to spin the hat, then placed it on my head. Right on cue every blood vessel in my eye popped, and it filled with cloudy cherry red. I’m told it looks like I have red marbles in my sockets, but I’ve learned not to trust voices in my head: they usually try to talk me out of things.

“Hello, CHICAGO!” I shouted to the crowd, clapping my hands together in hopes that they would join in. It didn’t work, oh well. “Are you ready for a little, anarchy?”

Staff goes down and cracks the pavement, I leave it pressed there; the skull on top glowing red and issuing smoke. I lift my arms above my head and let them drop – palms up—down at my hips. A simultaneous snap across both, and the orbs rise from the ground, as red as my eyes, and about the size of baseballs. I can feel my teeth enlarge in my mouth: my incisors growing big enough to crack into the others. It forces my mouth into a slashed smile, but I am totally fine with that, after all…I’m having a blast.

A twirl of my arms and the orbs spin off into the sky. A building explodes, and even more glass adds to the pile.

Wait, Glass? Oh, this is going to be such a nice day.

I send another orb towards a nice large pile of powder and pick it up. A cloud of shards forms around me and I let it spin.

A man is running away from me, having ditched his car in the still forming pile-up. I point at him and the glass obeys. He’s not running anymore.

“Grand Finale!” I shout as loud as my voice will go, and I send all the glass out in an arc. The police cars that were about to be on top of me are reduced to another pile-up. I send an orb over to meet them, and I swear this is true: the explosion was like fifty feet tall!

As you can see, I was having the mother of all parties here, so can understand my annoyance when he showed up.

I was clued to his presence when I suddenly felt a very warm pressure on my back, which was building by the second. I spun into the oncoming energy blast and sent an orb flying into his general direction. He dodges it of course, because heaven forbid I could get an easy hit with this guy.

“Entropy, take the cane out of the ground, now!” he said down to me, his eyes still growing green in anticipation. He’s, of course, hovering. Because he is so special that he can fly. I can summon pure chaos energy, but does anyone ever get impressed about that? No, of course not. Because everyone always wishes for flight as a super power. Even this genie blessed asshole.

“Not going to happen Bringer-“I’m saying his name mostly for your benefit, “-In fact, I think I am going to just leave it here, and just kill you.”

I snap my fingers and a swarm of orbs fly at him in-mass. He lasers most of them out of the sky, and then just to spite me, punches one back, the explosion making me stagger for a step.

“Please, Charlie, I’m being ordered to kill you. Just stand down and we can get you help.”

“My name… is not… Charlie!” I scream at him and slam my hand down on my cane. It digs deeper into the ground and the city shakes. Tremors topple several of the flimsier buildings, and even the concrete ones lose a few pounds. One guy even gets flattened by descending plaster chunks.

“Then you leave me no choice,” he replies, melodramatically, and moves faster than I can see, hurtling towards me. His fist is an echo across the air, and it makes my ears pop as I side step the blow. His fist makes impact with the ground and I can already feel the tremor building. I wonder now if the cameras are catching us both move at the speed of sound.

My hand curls around the staff next to me, and in exactly one eighty-sixths of a second I pull it out of the ground, spin it around and hit him with the narrow end.

Mr. Bringer here may have super strength, laser vision, super speed and even flying; but he doesn’t have invulnerability, and an unexpected hit like mine is going to sting.

Or, in his case, make his upper half have trust issues, and decide after a lengthy debate about financial responsibility and how “they could not pay rent because of his gambling problem”, and eventually in a fit of rage the lower half leaves and goes to live with his old beer buddy he met in that one weekend he spent in Las Vegas, when he got plastered on peach schnapps and spent a single frivolous night with this chick who called herself “Destiny”.

In other words, I cut him in half and sent his chunks flying into a nearby convenience store.

“And, sucker punched!” I yell out, flicking the gore off my cane, and then pressing it back into its handy hole. Another building falls.

Just then, the police decide that they are going to get involved and a loud-speaker goes off, and a quavering voice makes itself known. I’m vaguely aware of several sniper bullets slicing through my shields, and leaving thin cuts across my chin, but I think the police here have earned the right to ask me a question. After all, he’s so brave to talk too little old me.

“Entropy… step down… this is the Chicago Police force… you are under arrest for the following crimes: Terrorism, manslaughter, murder, destruction of property, and… jaywalking.” He says. “Put your hands above your head.”

“No”

A few bullets come at me from the front, they don’t even scratch my clothing.

“Sir… you will come peacefully.”

“I have demands!” I shout back at him. He does not seem to understand for a moment, and then looks confused, then panicked, then picks back up the megaphone.

“What…are they?” he asks,

I snap my fingers and summon one hundred orbs, and let them sit like a minefield around me.

“All I want… is to kill, everyone!”

They don’t respond: because, interesting fact about the police force, they can’t refuse your demands when a building falls on them.

This is going to be such a nice day.

—

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