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That's nonsense.

You heard me; absolute nonsense.

Have you ever, even once, heard a story? Read a book, watched a film? Interacted with any form of media ever?

Heroes are always sacrificing the world to save the person they love. They always put the gun down when the girl is threatened, catch the pram rather than the criminal, hand themselves over instead of a minor character. Narrative convention gives them the victory anyway, but the choice is still made.

It's a consistent trope. It's so common that it's extremely boring. Heroes stop fighting to protect those they love, even when the down-stream consequences are terrible. And villains? Villains choke the woman they love for an imagined betrayal, turn their backs on their families in pursuit of profit, won't even save their own lives because the quest object is right there.

"The thing about loving a Hero is, they always have to put the world first. But a Villain? A villain would watch the world burn to save someone they love!"

It's not true. It's never been true. It's a greeting card sentiment for abusers, a red flag that when they hurt you, when you're left alone or with the blood running down your face, they'll tell everyone that it was for your own good. That they made the difficult, right choice.

And then they'll go on and hurt someone else, still convinced of their righteousness, still adamant that they're doing the right, the loving thing. They'll find someone else vulnerable, someone else who needs to be told how special they are.

Someone else who will nod along to the pretty sentiment just because they're grateful to be spoken to, someone else who will ignore the warning signs, the 'am I a hero or am I a villain?' of it all, the shifting back and forwards between personas, always - somehow, coincidentally - inhabiting the character that happens to benefit them.

They'll claim to be a villain, half-redeemed by love of you, after they've hurt you. Before they hurt, or when you're not there, they'll claim to be the hero, suffering under your irrationality, your neediness. It's not meaningful; their morality doesn't really shift. A hero would be the same inside and out, would love you whether you were there or not, would never tell you your pain is your fault.

It's true, of course, that real heroes don't wear shining armour, that there is a smothered spark of goodness inside even the blackest heart. Believe that, and - when you can - polish the armour, help fan the spark. But also, always watch for the other case, when the spark has no air to breathe, when some stains don't wash clean. A real hero would set you free, not wield your guilt as a weapon and force you to stay.

Be wary of those who tell you about their own shades of grey. No hero is perfect, but someone claiming to be an imperfect hero is rotten to the core. Many villains are redeemable, but the one still stoking the fire while asking for mercy isn't. Beware - most of all - those who tell you they are both, who tell you that anyone else would treat you worse, that their cruelty shows a deeper kindness.

It's not the hero who wears a thousand faces; why have that many masks if you're not afraid of the truth?

They came for Tyra in the dead of night, while I was two hundred miles away. Kicked down the front and back doors after cutting the power, rushed her bedroom, threw a black bag over her head and hauled her away. At the same time I watched, impassively, as one of my interrogators pulled teeth from a stubborn detainee, Tyra was getting packed in an unmarked van and driven off to a black site. Bastards.

I knew nothing of it for hours. I was doing, as I had done since the Revolution, my job: hunting down dissidents and rebels, getting every scrap of information I could, whether it was real evidence or simply conjured up to make the agony stop. There are those who will read this and shudder at the thought, who know the history and thus know what a monster I am. It doesn’t matter. It never mattered to me. I did what I had to, to survive. My conscience was clear then, and in light of what followed, it’s clear once more.

But it wasn’t when Party Secretary Hull surprised me at the entrance to the detention center with his personal guard and that sniveling little shit Ingram. My conscience caught up with me as they drove me to the Party Headquarters in the capitol and sat me down before the top dogs in the country to denounce all the things I’d done at their behest over the past decade and a half. Murder, torture, conspiracy after conspiracy, backstabbing and backbiting. They accused me of preparing to seize power illegally.

“…a power-hungry madman,” Ingram, the last to ramble on and on about my crimes, finished his diatribe, “Whose sole objective since the Great Revolution has been to depose and murder this Council, and seize control as dictator.”

“You’ve heard the charges, Security Director Musitano,” Hull said to me after his cronies banged their fists on the table demanding my execution. He had a knowing smile, a devious little gash in his face that I recognized from when he’d condemned the last democratic leader of the country to death, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I want it seen to that my wife is looked after,” I answered without a hint of emotion. In fairness, this much I had seen coming. One does not rise in the hierarchy of such a vicious government without expecting his comeuppance. I’d been prepared for death since we were young men concocting the murder of policemen before the Revolution had even taken shape.

“She is being investigated as an accomplice to your crimes,” Ingram said, “By my officers. God willing, she’ll be found guilty as you are and shot.”

This, of course, was their great mistake. In the histories I’ve read, my motivations were something of an enigma—why didn’t I do as they said and seize power? Why, when I was dragged off to the prison in the capitol and slip my coded message to an agent in Ingram’s organization, was I planning a return to the republic?

That night was torture. They didn’t beat me, they didn’t even spit on me or curse my name—no, Director of Internal Security Musitano was locked in a lightless, windowless cell to be ignored until his execution the following morning. They wanted me to know that I would be forgotten, stricken from the records, damnatio memoriae, punished from that moment to eternity. They thought that would bother me. In truth, the anguish I felt was for Tyra. A woman whose only crime was growing up down the street from me, falling in love with a man whose obsession bordered on the psychotic. Her only crime was marrying an evil man. Sometimes, her crime was tempering that man’s violence with her warmth, with her efforts to help the masses stricken with poverty in our Revolution’s wake.

My people seized the armory within the prison first. Mere minutes before my execution would have taken place, gunfire rocked the building as they annihilated the gate guards and let in a convoy of Internal Security troops loyal to me and me alone. I heard screams, pleas for mercy, the whoomp of grenades through concrete, the wet slap of shredded meat on the ground. I was released, and from there we worked quickly.

Ingram was in bed with one of his young concubines when we caught him at home. We spared the poor girl, but in working to learn Tyra’s location we skinned most of Ingram’s bloated, disgusting body. I never knew the man had such resistance in him. For him, I did not passively watch. His last words to me, spoken through burbling blood, were:

“You’re too late…too late to save her…if you’d been quicker…”

He was right, of course. By the time I had boots on the ground and Tyra’s black site she’d been dead for hours. I was with them, fast-roping in with the second wave. When I found her body, half-buried in a shallow grave outside the facility, I fell to my knees and screamed. Many, many people would pay for her death.

For a few years after democracy was restored to this battered, splintering nation, I was considered a hero. I never did anything to dispel the stories, I suppose, but at the same time I never encouraged them. I knew my comeuppance was on its way, that as the Truth and Reconciliation Committees continued their investigation all would come to light. Soon, I’ll face the same fate as I was supposed to the night of Tyra’s murder. That’s all right. Maybe now that people have read this they’ll understand why I spent fifteen years as the master of torture and interrogation, of double-agents and betrayals so foul there isn’t a hot enough place in Hell to put me. They’ll understand that if they hadn’t come for Tyra in the dead of night, if they’d assured me she would live a long and happy life in luxury, I’d have sold out every human being on the world and myself.

"Here Comes the Bride" played for the third time. I felt my heart sink and felt a tear on my face because I knew she wasn't. I was in a tuxedo staring at a priest who was suddenly too engrossed with his bible to look up and see me. "I guess the wedding is off. Sorry everyone" was all I could say as I walked out.

As I got to my car I saw downtown erupting into a brawl. Celestia was battling Mistress Magic again. Luckily they usually kept things away from this part of town so I drove home and watched an entire season of Chopped while drinking cheap beer and eating ice cream before I finally passed out.

When I woke up the hangover reminded me why food network and Coors lite are a terrible combination but I got up and checked my phone. "I'm so sorry" was all she could bother to write me. I replied "you left me at the alter. Again. This relationship was over a long time ago but I'm finally done thinking it could be saved. You can save the world but something has to give. Goodbye" and hit send before I could chicken out. Then I turned my phone off and got ready for work.

A few months later, I had been going to the gym and had lost enough weight to fit back into my college pants so I felt like I was ready to get back into the dating scene. I looked at the apps mostly at work since it was close by a major university and the chances of finding someone I actually wanted to be with were a lot better. Right before my lunch break I pulled up my phone and saw her for the first time. Beth. She had a huge smile and was holding a small dog by the river. I swiped right and for the first time the app immediately sent me to a message screen. She had liked me first! I went back to her profile and took note of anything that might make for an interesting opening line and wrote "cute dog! What breed is that?" Then immediately deleted it. Then wrote "where did you take that picture? I'd like to see the view in person" and barely got the message typed before I deleted it too. Then I saw her typing and froze.

"So, are you writing me a novel or do you keep second guessing yourself? 😅" I looked around to be sure she wasn't there next to me. "lol yeah. Every line I came up with was too cheesy and didn't want to mess up a first impression" I replied. "I like cheese. Wanna go to a wine tasting?" She wrote. I almost dropped my phone. "okay. What time?" "Downtown at Le Fromage. It starts at 8:00. See you then!" I took a moment to gather myself. A gorgeous woman had liked me first and THEN asked me out? Was this real life?

I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and got a table. Beth arrived right on time wearing a stunning red silk dress and matching heels. Her photos didn't do her justice at all. I stammered "hi Josh, I'm Beth, nice to meet you" and she laughed. I felt my cheeks light up which made her laugh even harder. "Not very good at this, are you?" She chuckled as she said it. "Let's get some wine and see if it helps you remember who you are."

A bottle and full board of cheese later, it was like I'd known her for years. "so how did you find your way onto the app? Most of the guys on that app are either in college or on their third divorce." I sank a little in my chair. "I was with someone right out of college. She had a great job but it always came first. We even tried to get married but every time the world suddenly needed to be saved and I would have to wait. It happened again this winter and she left me at the alter." I tried to hold it back but I felt a tear run down my face. Stupid wine. "That really sucks. You didn't deserve that" she said as she hugged me. Then she looked me in the eye and said "that's the thing with people who put their careers first. The world will always need saving and you always take a back seat to it. For me, there is nothing that comes before the guy I'm with. I'd watch the whole world burn to save him. This place is nice but let's go somewhere a little more private. Before we do I have to get a selfie for my Instagram. Smile!" She said as she held her phone in the air. "let's get out of here" she said as she took my hand. As we were walking out I noticed a text on my watch. "What the FUCK are you doing with HER?!?!?" I ignored it. I was ready to be saved.

The words echo through my head with the beating of a drum in my ears. My old teachers had drilled them into my head, I had drilled them into my own students head, I had believed, but I had not lived them. My oath was to the code, and the code said for the great good no matter the cost. I had been told to never let the cost grow to great, to never let someone get so close that I would question a choice. But I had, and I had taken another oath.

The wedding band feels tight on my finger even though I know it shouldn't. My suit, molded to my body and as familiar as breathing, is heavy. It's as if I'm on another planet and the gravity is thrice the normal. I can't even try to take a step. Why did I do it, why did I let myself get close. Slowly I steal a glance behind me. She is still there, she is still asleep against a concrete wall, and she is still beautiful. Inspite of the moment the twinge of a smile touches my lips, how could I not have gotten closer, how could have I not loved her.

I turned back around. It didn't matter what I could or couldn't have done, all that mattered was that I had an impossible choice to make. Before me is 10,000 men, all of whom want her dead. Behind me is her. Easiness is not the factor, I could mow down all of those men perhaps a minute and a half, but they didn't deserve that. They were just soldiers, good people who were trying to do what they thought was right and just, or rather, what they were told.

In a past life my wife had done some horrible, horrible things but she had changed. A fight with a superhero, a headshot from some powerful ray, she couldn't remember anything. When she landed in the ocean and did not come back up they thought she had drown, and in a way she had. Her old self was still in the ocean when she crawled ashore on some Mexican beach. Naturally a strange 20 something lady with residual powers and amnesia attracted the leagues attention, but no one ever connected the dots. At least until today.

Some kind of new scan had showed the rays damage, and only one woman had ever been struck by it and remained unaccounted for. The governments of the world soon ordered her captured but she escaped from the leagues initial ambush, I had called in all of my favors to keep them at bay since. But the military I had no such sway over and they had run her down, her strongest powers lost with her mind she didn't stand a chance. Somehow she had managed to get a message to me, I still wasn't sure how, and I had found her asleep here. Before I could wake her though the sounds of tanks and helicopters had surrounded the parking garage we were hidden in.

I don't know how long I stood there, listening, waiting, thinking. But eventually a General shouted through a bull horn, "Thansverse, we don't want anyone to get hurt but we have to take your wife into custody, she has to face trial. Dranco, if you can hear me and you truly are not evil like you say, you will come out peacefully.".

Dranco, Dranco. The scale in my mind had been so finally balanced that the single grain of sand that was a name was enough to tilt it. Behind me I could hear her stir, she would try to stop me, she would give herself up, because she was a hero. It's a shame that I am not anymore. "Her name is Misses Quil", were the last words 10,000 men ever heard.

"I'm not sorry. I did what I had to." I stared down the camera. I was ready.

A police officer asked. "Mr. Johnson, are you sur-"

"I am. We all know what I did, why I did it, and I would think the rest of you folks would be grateful enough to still be alive to forgive me." I spat.

"You know how it all started?" I spat again at the closest camera. They'd already sentenced James to death, I knew what was coming. "James, my old classmate, he approached me. Said he didn't want to die in nuclear fire, he had an idea. Rodney was already in. We would forcefully disarm the world of its nukes, saving your sorry brains. I would kill Chinese leadership, make sure that they would be headless and that the Terra Firma Systems Union would swallow them. The TFSU had too many redundancies, it had to be China. Rodney would hack TFSU nukes using his insider position, and James would hack Chinese nukes. Send 'em to the moon, they can't hurt anyone there."

"They did their jobs, I did mine. No nukes meant conventional warfare, which meant everyone is still alive. The Chinese always defuse that stuff at the last minute, live stream purposes. I got past it by setting the thing to explode at twenty to go." I stared at the international court below me. "James did his thing, and I'm no computer scientist, don't ask me how Rodney got past Canada AI. Maybe she let him through, didn't want to die either.

"I don't care. I'm not sorry for the people killed in riots, the soldiers killed in the war. They would've all died anyway, in a ball of plasma, fire, and radiation. Send me to Hell, I know I'm going there; I did what I had to, and you all know it." I ended my rant breathing heavily, eyes glaring at the court and cameras above me. "So do it. Get me back to Rodney and James. But we both know what we prevented."

The judges gave their answer. "Mr. Charlie Johnson, for regicide, assassination, and high-profile terrorist actions, the International Court of the United Nations finds you guilty and sentences you to death."

I watched the officers raise their weapons.

"I'm not sorry. I did what I had to."

A bang, then darkness.

Obviously one of them is Celestia and the other is Mistress Magic

"The thing about loving a Hero is, they always have to put the world first. But a Villain? A villain would watch the world burn to save someone they love!"

"Or for fun." You point out with a shrug. Once your darling set a hamburger joint on fire for wishing him a good day instead of a nice day.

Beverly wrinkles her nose. She insists on thinking her Beau did all his horrible deeds in her name. She calls them declarations of his love but you know it's just his own boredom. Travis smirks and you know he gets it.

"Just because Your Man doesn't take out an entire football stadium for you-" Beverly starts up again before there's a small eruption. We aren't supposed to talk about actual 'deeds' our villainous partners have done, but once in a while something slips out. Alex bangs the gavel, calling us all to order again.

"Ok, folks. Let's discuss. Beverly, while I see your point is valid, do you think that could be problematic? It makes it sound like you blame yourself for your boyfriends actions. And what do we say here in Vilain partners support group about blame?

"We are only responsible for the actions we take, not the crimes of our partners" we all intone rather dully. Beverly doesn't look convinced. Stuart places a hand on her shoulder. You're fairly sure he and Beverly are dating the same vilain, but the group rules prevent you from asking.

"I'm sure he does lots of world burning to make you smile. But even if you didn't date him, he would still be the same wild untamed man. You love him, and you don't really want that to change, do you?"

Beverly takes his hand and smiles brightly. "Of course. You're right Stu."

Since this is considered a break through, I clap with the rest of the room. Alex stands up.

"Ok, I think that wraps up for this week. For homework, I want everyone to come back with three legal things their partner has done to show us they care. Have a good week and remember, love your partner for who they are."

You know... I've always been a profiteer! Even before being a girl, of course. That's my gender. "Profiteer".

I know I'm pretty, and I'm one of the second role of the story. You know, kind of the "comic relief" added to the "love interest", as they say. But I'm not fond of my own role.

Yes, I know, I'm just lazy as hell, always tired and hungry. During war. I know it's something that makes me a funny character, but y'know, I don't want to be seen as the boring love interest of the Hero AND the comic relief. I had to tell it out loud, sorry. Because I'm strong, too!

So, I chose to change my own fate. You know what? He's not interesting at all, this freaking Hero! I'll stab him in the back. Because he makes me unhappy.

I guess he's lying on me 'cause I have always been by his side since we're kid. But... seriously, come on! A Hero just called "Hero"?! At least, the villain isn't called "Villain"!

His name is Naï. And gosh. That sounds sooo good compared to the other world-lover as the hero of the story.

I started dreaming of something those last days. Naï is handsome, charming, charismatic, strong, muscular, smart, and whatever other adjective you want. He is the perfect one. My fated one.

Naï's my soulmate... that's what I dreamed of.

So me, love-interest-girl-named-Hilda, have to make him fall for me. That's my duty. My Machiavellian scheme.

-

One night, I woke up and looked at all my comrades sleeping. I started walking on my toes, paying attention to not wake them up.

I'm in a story, so, the travel is not that long if I want to go somewhere else quickly. Honestly, I don't even know where Naï is, but here we go. Magic, script, and here we are.

​

As I walk in a vast plain, I hear something. Something beautiful. That is... violin. And as I turn my head, he appears in front of me.

Naï.

My eyes widen.

He's... ethereal.

My arms fall along my body. And... I'm not capable of moving anymore. I am... captivated.

The funny and complainer sides of my personnality disappeared at this moment. I've been trapped. I'm not the one who made him fall. He made me fall for him.

For minutes, I didn't move an inch, just listening to the melody. And when he finished, he raised up his head and laid down his eyes on me.

"... Are you... Hero's comrade? What are you even doing here?"

For seconds, I stayed uncapable of saying any words.

"Answer."

My heart pounds on my chest.

"You... You're beautiful..."

I didn't even answer his question! He will absolutely kill me!

But... I stay stupefied when I see him just raising his eyebrows. He looks... troubled. He doesn't even answer back.

"But, are you..."

I start going forward, directly walking in his direction.

I know it. It is my character arc. It's like I have wings. I can do anything.

"... as beautiful in the inside?"

I stop in front of him, putting my finger against his chest.

"Obviously not."

I can't help but smile at him.

"That's honest."

I step backward.

"I am Hero's comrade. My name is Hilda."

"I never asked."

"I heard you did."

"You lie."

I look at him for a second until I giggle.

My eyes cross his. I'm still smiling.

I would never have guessed I could approach him so easily. Is he really the bad guy Hero and us all thought he was?

I was coming here just to make him fall for me. Just to take advantage of things, as always. To be on the best side. The side of the winner... The side of the one who would value me the most.

But I couldn't even imagine that... I would be so attracted to him. That's so unbelievable.

Maybe I thought that, by coming here, I was going against the script. But maybe... I was just meant to meet him tonight.

If, after this fabulous meeting, he starts to love me, I know he'd be the kind of person who'll love and protect me whatever it costs.But I don't have to forget that I could be the only one paying attention to him. The only one to love him, failing to my own plan...

But I'm certain that, after all the people he killed... If he wasn't my fated one, he would never let me approach him like that. I have faith.

"Naï..."

Slowly, my hand comes closer of his.

"Will you allow me to stay here?"

Please, dear script...

May my hand reaches his own.

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Well written, and sad.

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"That's really fancy and all, but... what if I want you both to save the world AND me at the same time?" Isabella asked.

Superbia looked at her, surprised at that question.

"I'll answer. You, a villain, look at the trolley problem and will feel pleasure as your inaction kills five people. As long as your dear one is saved, you don't care. Kaiser, the hero, looks at the trolley problem and runs to the tracks to cut off the ties on all of the people in danger, risking being ran over the train while cutting off the five people's ties" Isabella said. "That's why I'll always prefer Kaiser, he always searches the third, best solution, even if it endangers his life"

"If the dichotomy of saving you or the world has also the answer of both, I can give him the answer of neither as well. Are you happy about that possibility?" Superbia asked.

"The most critical difference between you and I, the motive of why I would never be even your friend... is that unlike you, I haven't given up hope" Isabella said.

Superbia frowned.

"Let us see how much this hope of yours last"

Couldnt he of knocked them out? Also amazingly written

This, just this.

👍

This is good. I love this.

Thank you! 😊

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