He had the being at his mercy.

The villain could nearly see the blood vessels bursting in agonizing strife under his victim's skin. The pathetic cretin stood on the verge of inane babble.

This was the climax. The moment of triumph. The moment where the victim's mind was so chaotic, the point in time when his nerves were stretched so tight, the second where he knew there was no way to win, the instant he truly realized the sheer futility: Breakdown.

The villain saw it literally, now. The man before him had red drops beading on his forehead. He was sweating blood.

He was on the brink. He had long passed the point of no return, knowing full well what he was doing. You see, that is the villain's way. He lets you think you can win. He lets you see your glory, he gives you your victory. And then takes it away. Completely away. And there is nowhere to turn. There is no-one to run to. The villain did not merely keep you from obtaining triumph, oh no. He allowed you one second, an instant to extend your hand towards the gold and know it was yours.

Then, the glow would be gone, and somehow you were to blame. It all went too fast, the world revolved out of control. Out of your control. The villain was a genius. A genius without pity.

The villain had many names. Most of them were of his own design. No-one knew his real identity. Some accused the villain of being an android or robot. Some accused him of being an agent from a foreign government with biological weapons that were being tested for the next World War. Some accused him of being an alien. Some even named him a ghost. All were sure he was not human. No human could be capable of such cruelty. It was worse than murder.

The villain began to laugh. It was calculated. It started low. The victim looked up, but the serum had begun to take effect. The hapless creature dropped to his knees. He could lift his eyes only high enough to see a vampiric smile.

The laugh continued. It grew gradually louder. So gradually, so perfectly timed and practiced, that you could not keep track of the crescendo. Or was there a crescendo? Was it just inside your head? "My head my head"…then you see the eyes. Oh those eyes! Take them away! They pierce your heart like daggers. "Everything else seems red red red but the eyes…" They are blue.

The laugh grows louder.

The villain knows it. He had stopped laughing minutes ago. He knows his victim is cracking. The figure's eyes are closed and their lids are wavering as they roll crazily inside his head. The mouth moves convulsively, but no sound comes forth. The hands shake, the fingers twitch. The knees are rigid, too rigid, and the victim falls to the ground. The same symptoms as the last. And the one before. And the one before that.

All have been the same.

The villain is indomitable. The world would fall to him. It would, at least, if he wanted it. But what is the use of that?

He needs but a little more to be content. He is close to his goal. He will reach his goal. The cliché "Enough is just a little bit more" was declaimed by a fool. He retrieves his prize as the foolish thing convulses on the ground. Mind has deserted him. He has gone mad. The villain has driven them all mad.

Straightening, the genius tugs at his tie. "It has been nice doing business with you. Good day, sir."

Dust motes outnumber oxygen molecules in the air. Two guards in the museum lobby spot some movement on the sophisticated surveillance monitors. They sit up, then slouch back and relax. "Mmph," mumbles one through a mouthful of jelly donut, "'s just the Fowl kid, 'gain."

"Yeh," says the other blandly. "That kid kinda creeps me out. Look, he's got an attaché case."

"Anatta-what?"

"Attaché, stupid. Yer so uncultured."

"I can't be uncultured; I work in a museum, idiot."

"You can work in a museum and still be uncult-"

The burglar alarum pierces the stuffy atmosphere. "Holy-!" The two guards look at each other. One screams "GO, IDIOT, or neither of us is gonna be workin' in a museum!" as they hurdle their recliners and splash soda in their haste to waylay a fiend.

Unfortunately, they rush right past a suited teenager carrying an attaché case.

Artemis Fowl.