Rampage Of A Mad Scientist

Mad Scientist Holds Allegorical Figure Hostage, Makes Demands

Toronto (CP) It has been two weeks since the escape from prison of the mad scientist Magnus von Malice from an Austrian prison. Two weeks in which rumour and conjecture about his whereabouts rushed around the world. Two weeks in cryptic brief podcasts claiming the world would soon belong to him. Claims of having had constructed a death ray he would use on the first person who heckled him. Law enforcement agencies across the world have been on the lookout for the convicted supervillain. As seems to fit the madman, he turned up in the most unlikely of places this week.

What could have drawn von Malice to a suburban mall? A shopping run for groceries? Funding the next stage of his schemes by robbing a jewelry store? Buying the latest iphone? Whatever the reason, the mad scientist turned up at a mall in the suburbs of Toronto this week, was confronted by mall security, and things got progressively weirder from there.

Von Malice turned what might have been an unpleasant confrontation into a hostage taking, grabbing the nearest convenient human shield. It was Fred Argyle, the mall’s Santa Claus, who just happened to be passing by when it all happened. Von Malice wrapped an arm around Argyle’s throat, according to witnesses, aimed a futuristic looking gun at his head, and started making demands.

“One hundred trillion dollars in gold plated latinum, or I kill Santa!” he started. An onlooker called out, informing the mad scientist that latinum was a science fiction mineral, and not a real one. “Shut up!” he replied.

The police were called in. Mall security kept people back, including children traumatized at the sight of who they assumed was Santa being held at gunpoint. Argyle himself was a nervous wreck. “Please, I’m just a mall Santa. I’m not the real thing. My name is Fred…”

“Shut up, fat man!” Von Malice warned.

“I’m not fat… it’s body padding,” Argyle tried to explain.

“What part of shut up do you not get?” Von Malice asked.

And so it went on. Mall security, not being paid enough for this sort of thing, waited on the arrival of the police. And among their number was a legend of the law enforcement community, off duty and in the city visiting family. He was already familiar to Von Malice- it was this very man who had foiled previous schemes by the megalomaniac super villain and who had put him behind bars.

It was the legendary and grumpy RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich. Witnesses described him as looking typically irritated, which is his default setting in life. Ulrich emerged among the crowd of responding officers, glaring at Von Malice, clenching his hands into fists. Von Malice saw him, gasped, and began to rant, a ten minute monologue aimed at the very man responsible for his imprisonment. There were declarations of war, threats of using the ultimate weapon on Ulrich, and more demands, including that Starbucks keep their pumpkin spice latte on the menu all year.

“Are you done?” Ulrich asked when the mad scientist went silent for a moment.

“There is no such thing as done,” Von Malice said with a characteristic sneer. “Now are you going to get in my way? Because if you do, the fat man gets it, and millions of children will wake up on Christmas without a present.”

“I told you, I’m not Santa,” Argyle protested.

“Shut up!” Von Malice ordered.

Ulrich sighed, shook his head. “Look, Mags….”

“Magnus!” the villain countered, seeming to become more unhinged. “Magnus Von Malice! That is my name, and you will address me in the proper way. For I am the destined master of the world, the greatest mind this world has ever produced. And I will not be disrespected by you of all people! The very man who’s foiled my grand overtures at world domination. What use do I have for the Metallica drummer, after all?”

Witnesses to the confrontation reported that Ulrich seemed more irritated at those words. His voice went low, barely audible, but there nonetheless. “I am not that Lars Ulrich,” he told the mad scientist.

Von Malice seemed puzzled. “Are you sure?”

What happened next was a blur, according to witnesses. One moment von Malice was holding a hostage. The next he was being clobbered and falling across the corridor, deprived of his weapon (later confirmed to be a mock up). And the next after that, Ulrich was tossing him off a second story balcony into a cappuccino stand.

Von Malice was taken away by ambulance, under heavy police guard, heard to be ranting about leviathans in red serge. It was reported that he had sustained several broken ribs in his fall. Inspector Ulrich took his leave of the scene before entertainment reporters could show up and ask if Metallica was doing a Christmas album.

And Fred Argyle, having had endured time as a hostage, held at gunpoint by a gun that wasn’t actually operable, went back to his mall Santa gig, reassuring children that he was perfectly fine, and that no matter what he had said earlier, ‘Fred’ was just an alias Santa used every once in awhile when he wanted to go off to Vegas and didn’t want Mrs. Claus to know.

And so it was that a grouchy lawman saved Christmas. Or close enough, anyway. Though he might be more of the temperament to say ‘get the hell out of my face’ as opposed to ‘Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.’

The Daring Escape Of An Lunatic Scientist

Mad Scientist Escapes Custody, Vows Revenge On Enemies

Berlin (Reuters) The world is reeling from news of the escape from prison of a notorious mad scientist in Germany. Magnus Von Malice, the super villain alumnus of the Zeppelin Von Blood Academy For The Ethically Challenged, the sociopathic and egomaniacal scientist whose attempts at world domination have run the gauntlet from bringing z-list celebrities back from the dead, stealing million dollar coins, arms dealing, and endless tirades, was arrested several months ago after a previous escape from prison. He and his minions stole a million dollar Canadian coin from a German museum, and Von Malice’s plans and threats against the world were thwarted thanks to the timely intervention of the world’s most relentless lawman.

Von Malice and his associates had been charged with multiple counts and imprisoned pending trial in Germany. Von Malice himself had been spending several months in a body cast after an epic beat down, still recovering in recent weeks while his body was mending. Police are still investigating the means of his escape after a daring breakout achieved by an unknown number of intruders at the hospital wing of the prison where he had been held pending trial.

While Von Malice is on the run, numerous figures around the world have responded to the crisis. Chancellor Merkel seemed dismayed and irritated, which might well be her default setting. “I want answers about how this could have happened,” she told reporters. “How hard is it to keep such a man confined? This man still had broken bones mending! Now he’s out there making threats and making more plans and doing whatever mad scientists do! Do I have to remind you he’s built death rays and interfered with time itself to resurrect pointless celebrities? What else is he capable of?”

Actor- if you want to call him an actor- David Hasselhoff, who was one of the z-list celebrities resurrected by Von Malice, had his own statement on the matter. He was still mending himself, after an altercation with Sharknado co-star Ian Ziering at a promotional event for the latest sequel left the former television heart throb with facial injuries still mending. “People need to just back off and leave Magnus alone!” Hasselhoff said. “He’s not a bad guy! He brought the Hoff back from the dead, after all, and the Hoff being in the world is a great thing!”

Russian president and sometime super villain himself, Vladimir Putin, was evasive about Von Malice when asked if he was giving sanctuary to the mad scientist. “Look, it is very simple, da? One does not give straight answers when one is asked about old poker playing friend and occasional lunatic? Magnus Von Malice may or may not be in Russian territory, da? How should I know? Do you think I know everything that happens in Mother Russia? That would mean I would have spies everywhere reporting on everything, and that is just silly.” He laughed, and not in a good way, but more in the kind of way that made you think he was considering the brutal death of someone who had cut him off in traffic.

The current occupant of the Oval Office (for the moment, anyway) has been busy tweet-screaming at military widows, football players, and pretty much anyone else who’s been irritating him, not to mention contending with looming indictments and the Mueller investigation. And yet that hasn’t stopped him from issuing Twitter statements on the matter. “Manhunt on Magnus very unfair!” Trump wrote at three in the morning yesterday. “Magnus is a very fine guy! Good guy! Gave my campaign lots of money, bigly covfefe!” Another tweet following that noted: “Blame Crooked Hillary and Obama! Lock them up! Lock them up! Fake news!” The tweets that followed that became even less coherent until ending at four thirty with a final one: “Lyin’ Ted hates rabbits!”

In the morning, a press briefing was very brief, with White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders coming in and telling reporters, “The President’s Twitter account was hacked. We believe Hillary Clinton did it, and we are demanding she be arrested and perp walked by the FBI before the entire world. That’s what the president told me to say. Now off the record, if any of you can think of any places that might hire me in a month or two, let me know. I don’t think this job is going to last much longer. Thanks, no questions, bye.”

The supervillain himself made contact with the world at large through a video transmitted from an unknown location. He was sitting in a large arm chair in a comfortably furnished room, petting a ferret. His long black and silver hair was disheveled, and he was dressed in dark slacks and a turtleneck. “People of the world! It is I, the unparalleled genius that is Magnus Von Malice! Only I, the greatest mind this world has ever produced, could have escaped from custody! Only I, the leading figure of the age, could be so audacious! You cannot keep me contained. No one can stop me! For I, Magnus Von Malice, am utterly unstoppable!” He began to laugh, until his face seemed to strain in pain and he clutched his side. “Oh, damn…. My ribs. Still healing up, you see. But that does not matter! For I have demands to make!”

For another thirty minutes, Von Malice went on and on, bragging about himself and his intellect, to the point where one might think he needed to seriously dial back on the ego. Finally he got to the demands. “In the past I have insisted on sole ownership of entire countries and massive amounts of money or I would wreck havoc with the world. You refused. Instead you sent that… policeman after me. Now I will not be satisfied with just getting my hands on France, or turning the people of Denmark into playing the part of my personal chess set. I will not be satisfied with trillions of dollars handed over to me.”

He paused, glared at the screen, petting the ferret. “I will give the governments and the people of the world precisely two weeks from today. You will surrender all control of your countries to me. You will surrender all wealth to me. There is to be no negotiation, no conditions. Only I, Magnus Von Malice, can lead the world forward into the future. I will be satisfied with nothing less than total and complete world domination!” He laughed again, until the pain of mending ribs stopped him. “Ah…. Ah, that’s better. And one more thing. I want that Mountie. I want Lars Ulrich. I want revenge. I want him handed over to me. I want to strap him to a rocket and send him into the sun. You will hand him over to me so that I can end his existence. Is that clear? Welcome to the new age. The Age of Von Malice!” He started laughing, until the ferret leapt out of his hands and started clawing his face. “Owww! Somebody get Hugo off me! Stop that! Stop it, Hugo! Stop! Bad ferret!”

The video ceased at that point. Governments of the world began to debate the demands. The president of France recommended an immediate surrender. The American president tweeted, “Crooked Hillary!” The Russian president looked addled after viewing the rant and was said to have run away to the nearest reinforced bunker. 

And at an RCMP detachment in the Alberta foothills, a gruff Mountie was cautiously approached by reporters for comment. Upon being reassured that the reporters knew full well that he was not that other Lars Ulrich, the Inspector’s glare lessened. “It’s on my to-do list,” Inspector Lars Ulrich simply stated. “1: Find Magnus Von Malice. 2: Kick the crap out of Magnus Von Malice. And 3: make Magnus Von Malice cry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get at it.” In the opinion of this reporter, Von Malice might be in a world of trouble.

From A Football Field To Cannon Fodder

Town Bids Goodbye To Favourite Son With Dark Secret

Bedford, Iowa (AP) This quiet town is the county seat of Taylor County, a quiet place that seems to exude small town America. Norman Rockwell would have been at home here depicting scenes of domestic tranquility, rural occasions, and whimsy. Supposedly named after a rider of the short lived Pony Express in the 19^th century, the townspeople seem content to let the world pass them by, living a life of apple pies cooling on the kitchen window sill, church on Sunday morning, and football games at the local high school in the fall.

And so it was a shock recently for one of their own to have been killed in what turned out to be a workplace incident- a shock made all the more perplexing by where he worked and secrets that have come out about him since. Timothy Lennox grew up in Taylor County, born in 1971 to Alan and Heather Lennox, their pride and joy as their only child. Lennox was by all counts a typical American boy growing up, blond haired and blue eyed, getting into the usual mischief, distinguishing himself in athletics, favouring baseball and football. In high school, he grew to lead his team to state championships in football. The boy who’d been a pride and joy to his parents became the pride and joy of a town and county. College scholarships and perhaps a career in the NFL were beckoning.

And then came the accident.

Three days after graduating from high school, Lennox was crossing the street to meet friends at Pop Tatum’s ice cream shop. He was run down by local resident Frank “Oz” Oswald, whose reputation in the county is that of a troublemaker, ne’er do well, and drunk. Oswald was arrested for drunk driving and hit and run, criminal charges that were just the latest in a long line of criminal charges. Twenty seven years later, that list of charges and convictions has continued to grow, and Oswald is currently a guest of the state at the Iowa State Penitentiary. “There was always something wrong about that boy,” local retiree and gossip Edgar Gaines told reporters recently when asked about Oswald. “You know how it is. Some people, they’re just messed up right from the start. Little did we know that the youngster we were all proud of, the one Oswald hurt... would end up... well, doing what he did."

Lennox was hurt in the incident, suffering a broken leg and other injuries that put an end to his football ambitions. He seemed to take it all in stride, heading off to college anyway, but friends noticed that he had seemed to withdraw in many ways. “He seemed to be mourning missed chances,” longtime friend and local farmer Alex Ridgeway told reporters this week. “He’d come home for breaks, but that spark seemed to be gone. Whatever you want to call it, it just wasn’t there anymore.”

Another more serious blow came in his final college year with the deaths of his parents- caused by drunk driver and local ne’er do well Frank “Oz” Oswald, who did ten years in prison for that particular offence for drunk driving causing death. At the trial, Oswald swore up and down that he was still capable of driving, even after consuming ten bottles of vodka in a single evening. “It wasn’t my fault! They got in my way! I was just defendin’ myself!” Oswald claimed in court in a trial that ended with a very quick jury decision.

Lennox was even more stunned and withdrawn after the deaths of his parents, listless and subdued through the trial. He graduated from college, came back to Bedford, and settled in quietly. He wouldn’t talk about work- his friends only knew he was a consultant, a job that kept him on the road frequently, and he wouldn’t talk shop. He wasn’t terribly social- there were the occasional girlfriends, but nothing serious. Still, he was engaged in the community, attending games, fall fairs, and the annual pie festival.

And then came the recent news of his death.

 Federal agents confirmed that Lennox was killed in a freak accident at his real workplace- a division headquarters of the outlaw anarchist organization known as SPITE, severed in half by what has been called an “Nukeifier 4000”, a field artillery weapon the organization had been developing to further its mission to “conquer the world, subject all to our will, and find out the secret of the Caramilk bar”. The terrorist group has operated from the shadows all over the world, led by the elusive individual known until recently only as Lord Nefarious.

How does an all around American boy end up being a henchman for a supervillain? That’s the question on many minds in Bedford these days, as locals wonder what might have drawn him to the organization. “All- American! Apple pie and football!” Gaines remarked, shaking his head with dismay. “And he ends up becoming some anarchist henchmen wearing an identical costume to every other anarchist henchman. It just doesn’t make sense.”

The organization itself has ended up on the run, with multiple intelligence agencies and military units across the world seeking them out- all as a result of the freak accident, which as it turns out couldn’t have been covered up. Even Lord Nefarious has been exposed; the founder of the organization has been identified as Geoffrey Walden, the bored third son of an Ivy League blue blood family from Boston. “This is an outrage!” his father, Godfrey Walden- the CEO of Walden Incorporated- told reporters who showed up at his mansion on Cape Cod. “You lowly vultures have no right to question the loyalties of a Walden! Leave or I’ll have my personal bodyguards beat you soundly!”

 The last word belongs to the deceased. Simon Cade, an attorney in Bedford, spoke to reporters who turned up at his office. As personal attorney to Lennox, the lawyer explained that a personal letter had been added to his will six months ago, a letter that helped identify Lord Nefarious. “It was three sentences,” Cade explained. While the letter itself is in the hands of the authorities, Cade wrote them down for his own reference. “And it was as follows: to the world at large, Lord Nefarious of SPITE is actually that snivelling little gutless coward Geoffrey Walden. And to Geoffrey Walden, if you’re wondering what happened to that three hundred million dollars the organization’s missing, I have just two things to say. First, you’ll never find it, and second.... nyah nyah nyah nyah!”

The Villain

No, not him.

Uh uh. Nice try. Besides, this is the real Barney:

Getting closer...

Yes, they qualify, but....

And yes, Fluffy could be considered a villain, but...

Would you start taking this seriously?

I'll get murdered by the Darcy fans for that....

What did I just say about taking this seriously?

The feline overlords are going to punish me for that....

Now then, getting to it. Every once in awhile, the film League of Extraordinary Gentlemen turns up on television, and for some inexplicable reason, I feel compelled to watch it. I wouldn't buy it, I think it's a profoundly cheesy film. Having had read the original graphic novels, I can honestly say that Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill must have been smoking something when they put them together.

In the film version, Sean Connery spends the entire two hours plus with the same facial expression, as if he's wondering what he did to tick his agent off so much that he got cast in this train wreck.

The villain, of course, is Moriarty, as played by Richard Roxburgh, who's made a career of playing villains, including another literary heavyweight (in another very cheesy film), Dracula, in Van Helsing.

Oddly enough, having had played Moriarty, Roxburgh has also played his nemesis, the great detective Sherlock Holmes, in an adaptation of Hound of the Baskervilles. Holmes calls his archenemy the Napoleon of crime. Moriarty is one of the great villains of all time, of course, a truly evil, amoral sort who'll do anything it takes to get what he wants. Not that he sees himself that way. Villains rarely do.

Every hero needs a villain. Abraham Van Helsing needed Dracula. Holmes needed Moriarty. Ahab needed Moby Dick (or the whale needed Ahab, depending on who you think the villain of the novel is). Spider-Man needed Aunt May (you didn't know Aunt May was the most dangerous, evil supervillain of them all?). Without a villain, what is there for them to do?

In my writing, villains play a big part. Terrorists feature heavily in Heaven & Hell. I've written them very sympathetically, very much as human beings. That can be an important touch. Otherwise, one runs the risk of having them wind up becoming a Snidely Whiplash sort of character. Pure bad to the bone, but no depth. They don't have to be sympathetic, mind you... just something human. Unless, of course, they're tyrannical vampire bunnies.

Of course, not everyone writes counterterrorism thrillers, so your book might not contain a villain. Odds are, however, that you might have an antagonist. Someone who's in the way of your protagonist. How do you make use of that in what you write?

In future works, the villain will again feature prominently in my work. One of the benefits of creating an ongoing continuity is that you can seed your current work with characters who'll turn up again down the line. Creating the Irish terrorist Cain Reilly and inserting him into the book is one example. He'll turn up again down the line, doing all sorts of really bad things.

 I've also done the same in writing two other characters. One is the Iranian President. The other is the Ayatollah of Iran. Unlike my current villains that make up the Covenant, there's not a whole lot in these two to be sympathetic about. Yet I've enjoyed writing them in a limited way in the book, and they're two characters who, over the coming books, will continue to pull strings, to manipulate, and cause trouble, until they themselves are front and center.

The following is a brief passage from the book, with a conversation between them.

The old man lived in the Beit Rahbari, the so called House of the Leader, as his two predecessors had before him. And following their example, the old man seemed to thrive on bitterness and bile. His name was Azad Garoussi, and he had been Supreme Leader of Iran, master of nearly eighty million people, since the death of the previous ayatollah. Harandi found him sitting at a desk in his study, writing in Farsi, a television nearby broadcasting Al-Jazeera. The image of the column of fire and smoke dominated the screen.

            He was in his early seventies, his grey hair neatly trimmed and his beard long. He wore a black robe, his typical clothing, and his brown eyes looked up at the man he entrusted as the President of his nation. The pen went down, and the old man pushed away the paper. A smile curved at his lips, and he rose. Coming around the desk, he clasped Harandi’s hands. “Of course you’ve seen it,” he said in Farsi.

            “Of course, teacher,” Harandi answered. The old man liked that.

            “There are already accusations being made against the Zionists.”

            Harandi nodded, careful of what to say. “They would not be so mad.”

            “I agree.” The old man chuckled. “How ironic, Aref, that you and I believe them to be innocent in this matter.” He looked at the television, studied the fire and the smoke. “No, this is the act of a terrorist. Not that we can openly call such people terrorists.” The old man looked him in the eyes again. “Still, there is an opportunity.” He paused. “This has not aired on our television networks?”

            “Of course not,” Harandi replied.
            “Then perhaps it is time.” The old man nodded, his dark eyes shining with an expression Harandi might have thought to be glee. “Yes, it is. It will infuriate our people. When they see these images, they will demand blood. They will demand we act against the Israelis. And so we shall. Someone out there has done us a great favour, Aref.”

Harandi nodded. I didn’t even have to persuade him. “They have indeed.”

“Set the dogs loose,” Garoussi instructed. “The radical groups, the Syrians... set them at the throats of the Israelis.” He smiled, and Harandi noticed how cold the gesture seemed. How amused he is, he thought. Fortunately, Harandi thought along the same lines. He nodded politely to the Leader, and took his leave, wondering what the fools in Damascus would think of being referred to as dogs. It fits, he told himself as he walked down the hall. He’s the master... and they’re the hounds.


Quite the pair, aren't they? Don't they come across like the sort of people you'd like in your own home? Oh, come on, I'm sure the real Ayatollah is a lot of fun once he starts to relax...

In closing... treat your villain as though they're still a human being. Because they are. Unless, of course, they're an evil clown. In which case, call Ving Rhames to come save your butt. Evil clowns are ruthless, don't you know?