Why Villains Have a Better Life
Warren Peace stomped out of the maximum-security prison, his hands igniting with anger. His monthly visit with his father had started and ended the same as it always did. Baron Battle had tried to convince his son that the life of a hero was one without rewards; this attempt was brushed off like every other time father and son spoke. Warren then went on the offence, appealing to his father's love for his super hero mother. This was disregarded, vodka being blamed for Warren's entire existence. When his father called his mother a 'two-bit whore', Warren exploded, melting the dividing bulletproof glass for the sixth time that year.
Sliding into his moderately priced car, Warren reflected on his father's words. He thought about the rewards that came with being the bad-guy. According to both of his parents, the 'bad-boy' got everything a hero gave up in the search for justice and underwear that could be worn both inside and outside skin-tight clothing. As a child, Warren had never thought to ask exactly what a hero gave up, and was now finding himself stumped as to what his parents could have possibly meant.
So, for far longer than he had originally intended, Warren sat in his car, pondering the differences between the benefits of both sides of the ever-present battle between good and evil. Was there any great reward for his endless battle with the modern villain? Or was he better off joining them?
He thought about his two best examples, his father, Baron Battle, and his best-friend's father, Steve Stronghold, otherwise known as The Commander.
Baron Battle, know as Baron Darrin Lester before he decided to pursue a carer in super-villainy, had one child that he attributed to the bottom of several bottles. The mother of his child refused to admit he existed and he couldn't get through one conversation with his son without property damage ending the meeting. The Baron didn't have two cents to his name, his entire fortune seized due to the illicit nature in which he had amassed his millions. All of his fortune went to the young son that he didn't particularly care about, to be available the day he turned twenty-one. Every patch of land was sold, the profits being split between taxes to pay for material and structural repairs, damages to his victims and the families of those who didn't make it, and to the young boy he had left behind.
Then there was The Commander, Steve Stronghold. Well-renowned and world famous hero, legendary for his imprisonment of Baron Battle and countless other villains. The Commander had everything Baron Battle did not. He had a wife who loved him almost unconditionally, a son who he cared for with everything he could muster and a decent home in the suburbs. Everything a guy could ever want out of life.
There sat Warren Peace, son of the great Baron Battle, friend to the son of The Commander and Jetstream and proud graduate of Sky High, something his father never managed to do. He sat in the car that he had bought three years ago with money he earned from his job at Sky High, thinking about what his parents could have possibly meant.
His eyes caught sight of the time, the glaring green numbers on the LCD display pointing out that he was headed for a night on the couch. He started the car and sped home, making sure not to go over the speed limit as he did so. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over and recognised, apparently, heroes followed the law to the letter, or so Mr. Stronghold had continually drummed into Warren's mind.
Pulling up in the driveway of his two-storey house, Warren's mind was still trying to find an answer. Could being a villain be more beneficial than being a hero? He was temporarily distracted from his thoughts as one of the smaller trees in the front yard went up in flames. Warren jumped into action, turning the hose on the flaming tree. He was silently thankful he had convinced his wife to let their children grow the tree with absolutely no help. As a result, the tree was no larger than Warren.
Fire extinguished and children reprimanded, Warren lifted his five-year-old son into his arms, gently blowing on the burn marks the fire had caused. Behind him came his six-year-old daughter, talking rapidly about how it was an accident and that she didn't mean to set the tree on fire. Warren smiled, recalling a similar speech he had given his mother when he accidentally set his bed on fire during a bad dream. He was about to turn and give his daughter the same caring look and promise of power-control help his mother had given him when his wife came bursting into the room hallway.
"Are you all okay? I heard crying," said Layla Peace, her words coming out faster than some speed-talkers could manage. She was the picture of domestic-bliss. Her hair up in a loose ponytail, worn jeans smeared with dirt covering her legs and green singlet screaming happily married with well-tended to garden. Adorning her neck was the peace sign charm that Will Stronghold had given her as a wedding present, representing her new name and his approval of the marriage. Warren smiled again, wrapping his free arm around his wife, whispering calming words into her ear. He had his daughter, Rose, sit down in the living room to explain what happened to her mother while he took his son, Ash, into the kitchen to put his burnt arm under cold water.
Later, as Warren finished a heroic tale of bad-guys turning good, Layla gently knocked on Ash's door, signalling the end of story time for the night. Warren quickly said goodnight to his half-asleep son and left the bedroom. Lightly closing the door, he turned to take in the beauty that was his wife. His eyes roamed over her body, coming to rest on the scar on her neck she was left with after a particularly hard fight with some loon trying to take over the world. Brows creased in concentration, Warren stared at the scar marring his wife's neck. He thought about how close Layla had been to death that day, and how worried he had been. Then it hit him, the reason why villains and bad-boys had it better.
They had nothing; therefore, they had no love, family, or possession to lose.
Warren had never been happier to be worse off than his father was.
