A story told through the eyes of a famous villain
I’ve been having these… blackouts, I guess you’d call them. I just suddenly come to, and I’m somewhere, and things are happening – I mean, bad things are happening – and I literally have no idea how I got there.
What’s even weirder is, every time I wake up, I feel different in some small but crucial detail. My height can vary by up to fifty metres, for one. One time I woke up and I was really, really fast, lurching around like a drunk on fast forward. Another time I could see the future, although I couldn’t distinguish it from the present. Usually I wake up with truly radioactive breath, for which I can only apologise.
And as if these physical challenges weren’t enough, I always come to in the middle of a warzone, locked in death-grip with freakish giant du jour – giant metal things, giant three-headed flying things, even a giant bloody monkey. Sometimes the tiny swarming creatures, who I suspect to be behind the whole charade, lay traps for me or buzz about my head throwing rocks.
So here I am flailing about in my ill-fitting yet supremely destructive body in the middle of a major metropolis, and yet I’m the bad guy for tripping over a few buildings here and there? Never mind that I was quite happily extinct until somebody decided to split atoms over my grave.