Council of Evil

by Andy Briggs

  Outside, Basilisk’s SkyKar was hovering over a circular helicopter landing pad. On Basilisk’s orders the scientists attached the Core Probe to a harness dangling from the vehicle’s underbelly.

  “A job well done, Hunter,” said Basilisk. “Do you want to deal with the witnesses, or should I?”

  Jake wondered how many people Basilisk had killed to get this device. Was it worth all the carnage? Jake would gladly step into a fair fight and cause untold damage—but he drew the line at killing. Was that what it took to be successful? He looked at the frightened group and nodded.

  “I’ll sort it out.”

  Basilisk grunted his approval and soared up to the cockpit of the SkyKar. Jake swallowed hard and turned to face the prisoners, and he hoped his nervousness didn’t show.

  “All of you, get in the lab. NOW,” he bellowed in his most threatening voice. The scientists shuffled back through the loading-bay doors. He followed the group into the lab and closed the doors behind him, giving a quick nod to Basilisk, who was watching intently from the SkyKar.

  Jake turned to the pale faces. The warm seep of the radiation pulsed through him, powered by his fear rather than anger.

  The scientists’ lives were in his hands.

  Grand Designs

  The return journey was a little slower due to the additional weight of the Core Probe slung beneath the SkyKar.

  Jake was too wrapped up in his thoughts to acknowledge Basilisk’s occasional compliment about Jake’s villainy. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind that people had just died. The fighting was a lot of fun, but completely beyond the realms of normality, which had made it seem like a game. Yet people had lost their lives. The more Jake thought about the last twenty-four hours, the more confused he felt. He wanted some answers. Halfway through the flight he couldn’t bottle up the questions any longer.

  “Who are you? In the real world, I mean. Or what are you? And why did you give me these powers?” A hundred other thoughts rattled through his mind, but he knew there was no time for them now.

  Basilisk gave a low chuckle. “Only now do you ask? Incredible. You have flown, battled a robotic soldier, and fired radiation blasts from your hands, and not once did you question your abilities.”

  Jake thought about that. Of course the “how and why” had been floating through his mind, but the sheer thrill of his adventure had pushed them aside.

  “As I said before, Hunter: this is all in your blood. I’ve been watching you for some time, and what you have done is something you find very natural, I wager.”

  Jake felt uncomfortable that Basilisk may have been spying on him. Had he been following Jake to see if he had what it took to be a criminal? Was this some kind of test? But he had to admit that wielding the powers took little effort, as though he had been able to do it his whole life.

  Basilisk continued, talking over Jake’s thoughts. “As to who I am, isn’t it obvious?”

  “Sure, you’re a guy who likes dressing up and has a Web site that gives me superpowers. Even I know that’s not normal.”

  “The costume or the powers? I am what the authorities like to call a supervillain.”

  Jake was expecting that answer, but it still felt odd to hear it and he tried to suppress a grin. “Like in the movies? Threatening to conquer the world?”

  “Exactly. Where do you think they get those ideas? It’s been happening throughout history. Real life is the best form of inspiration. A film producer once modeled his main villain after me.”

  Jake frowned. “What was the film?”

  “Let’s just say there was no sequel,” Basilisk replied ominously. “There used to be many of us, each with separate plans for domination, blackmail, destruction, and revenge. Each of us who remains still wants power in some shape or form.”

  “That must get complicated. Don’t you ever end up crossing paths or having the same ideas?”

  Basilisk grunted. Jake had a feeling he’d touched a nerve. It was several seconds before Basilisk continued. “Our numbers are thinning, and we saw that by banding together we could recruit others to our way of life. We tried a variety of recruitment methods, but they failed to work. We moved to cyberspace and tried to recruit that way, but our techniques were primitive and had to be scrapped. Then Villain.net was born from those digital ashes. The perfect lure for young, impressionable minds, don’t you think?”

  “How many more of you bad guys are there still around?”

  “I think you mean ‘us’ bad guys. But ‘bad’ is such a clichéd black-and-white view of the world. We just have different opinions. And when those opinions conflict with the majority’s cherished beliefs, then they label us as ‘the bad guys.’”

  “But what about good and evil?”

  “It is not a battle between good and evil, there is no such thing. It is merely a battle of wills, a battle for power. Those who are brave and smart enough will win it. When countries go to war how can one be good and one be evil? The populations of those countries both think that they’re on the side of justice. Would you consider yourself evil?”

  Jake hesitated as he thought back to the horrified look on the scientists’ faces when he had set the Institute alight. He had made sure they all escaped through the far door, though. He might be many things, but he wasn’t a killer. He just hoped Basilisk hadn’t seen what he had done.

  “Of course I’m not evil,” retorted Jake.

  “No? You’re a warrior. People fear you. You bring much misery to the ordinary folk around you and you enjoy the power, don’t you? Power over those scared kids in school; power over your sister.” Jake glanced askance at him: so he knew he had a sister. How much more did this creep know about him? “Power over those scientists’ lives.”

  Jake had to admit, it did feel good.

  “Power is what Villain.net is all about. I have ambitions to rule the world, shape it in my image. But so did Napoleon, and that did not make him bad.”

  “So did Hitler,” answered Jake, thankful that some of his history lessons had sunk in.

  “But at the time many saw Hitler as a hero, the man who would revive Germany. They never saw the darker side until it was too late. History is shaped by the winners, never the losers.”

  Something occurred to Jake. “So are there super-heroes too?”

  Basilisk growled derisively. “According to the authorities, yes. The Invisible Brigade among them, so-called goodies even though they will stop at nothing to get what they want either. But they do it under the banner of ‘law and order.’” Basilisk thumped the dashboard with his fist, his knuckles leaving an indent.

  “And these heroes have the same powers?”

  “Similar powers, not quite the same. They want to shape the world in their own image just as much as we do. There is an old saying: Who polices the police?”

  That made logical sense to Jake. But before he could flip the thought around, Basilisk continued.

  “You have proved that your potential is vast.”

  Once again Jake felt an unexpected surge of pride. He was beginning to regard Basilisk in a different light. He understood his thirst for power. That thirst, on a much smaller scale, was what normally propelled Jake through each day.

  “So who were you before you became Basilisk? Surely you had a real name?”

  Basilisk turned his shadowed gaze on Jake for a moment as though contemplating telling him. “I was once Scott Baker, from Canberra, Australia. I was in the army and had an accident that triggered my latent powers.” Basilisk said it as though he was reading from a script.

  That seemed to be all the biography Jake was getting for the moment. He thought about the fact that Basilisk didn’t have an Australian accent, but decided not to bring it up. He looked out of the window; it was once again dark outside. “Where are we going now?”

  “You are going home, as we agreed.”

  “Home? Why?” Just his luck. The moment he found something fun to do, something happened to end it. “I want to
stay with you!”

  “You will see me again in a couple of days, rest assured. But for now we cannot raise suspicions. If you stay away from home for too long, then your parents will call the police. That is something we dare not risk at the start of an operation.”

  “But I don’t even know what the operation is! You haven’t told me.”

  “At the moment, the less you know the better. It’s for security. Believe me, even now some do-gooder will be probing around the technology institute we just destroyed, looking for clues. Fortunately, with no survivors, they will have little to go on.”

  Jake remained silent, and stared at the floor. He could sense Basilisk briefly turn to look at him. Did he know what Jake had done? Was this a test?

  “So what’s next?” said Jake, eager to change the subject.

  “I shall return to my base and prepare the Probe. In the meantime, you rest. There will be much for you to do when my plan rolls into operation.”

  Jake sighed and decided to press again. “What is the plan?”

  “All in due time, Hunter. You will know soon enough.”

  It was almost five in the morning by the time Jake was dropped back at the steel mill and it was still dark. The SkyKar had flown so quickly that the dawn light in India had yet to cross through time zones to reach him. A thin layer of frost had coated his bicycle but at least it hadn’t been stolen.

  Jake’s gaze combed the star-spangled sky. He was no longer feeling frightened by being left alone in the factory, but instead curious as to why Basilisk had chosen him. Clearly he’d been spied on, but for how long? And what was all that stuff about it being “in his blood?”

  So far Jake had had no clear goals in his life, or role models to follow. But now he did. He wanted to be like Basilisk—he wanted the freedom to do as he wished and he wanted power—power over people so they wouldn’t hassle him anymore.

  Feeling good, Jake pedaled furiously home. For once he knew how he wanted his life to play out. And it was full of exciting possibilities.

  * * *

  Something roused Jake from sleep. His blurry vision gave way to the digital red numbers on his alarm clock informing him that it was a little after midday.

  Jake still felt tired as he went downstairs, even though he had fallen asleep the moment his head had touched the pillow. Vivid dreams had replayed the events in India—the faces of the terrified scientists staring at him, pleading for their lives. And his dreams created bizarre images of him and Basilisk riding the Core Probe to the center of the earth like a motorcycle, heading for some unknown destination, before it melted from the intense heat.

  His family was already around the kitchen table having lunch. Jake slumped into his seat as his parents mumbled their “good mornings” or rather, their “good afternoons.” His sister looked at him across the table.

  “What’re you staring at?” he growled.

  “You look terrible, Jacob.”

  “So do you,” he snapped back.

  His mother studied him, concern on her face. “You do seem a little pale, hon.” She touched his forehead. “Temperature’s fine though.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” Although in truth he did feel weak. Perhaps that was a side effect of last night’s exertion?

  “You hungry? I’m making grilled cheese.”

  “Fine,” Jake said, turning his attention back to his sister.

  “It’d be hysterical if you were sick during the holidays,” she said with a thin smile.

  “Shut up.”

  His dad intervened without taking his eyes from the crossword he had been attempting to complete. “Jake, don’t tell your sister to shut up.”

  Beth looked triumphant as she shoveled a spoonful of soup into her mouth. “I think you should stay locked in your room until we’re back at school. In case it’s contagious. I wouldn’t want to catch anything off you.”

  Jake’s temper snapped and he jumped to his feet, stretching his hand toward his sister, willing a stab of radioactive energy to hurl her off her seat.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again, but succeeded only in making his sister stop eating. She frowned. “What are you doing? Got a cramp in your hand?”

  “I’m trying to melt your spoon!” he snarled, puzzled.

  “You are seriously weird. I hope that’s not genetic.”

  Jake realized he must look like a fool, poised over the table in an action stance, but he had other things to worry about. His superpowers were completely gone.

  “Congratulations for activating your account,” Jake read. As soon as lunch was over, he’d dashed to his room and logged onto his e-mail. “Your continued membership has been approved by the Council and a Villain.net representative will once again be in touch with you to further your new career.”

  Jake felt a thrill. At least that meant the adventure wasn’t over yet. He was about to close the e-mail when a rider at the bottom of the message got his attention. “Villain.net is not responsible for injury, damage, or death to either the End User (yourself) or others (victims) due to utilizing online powers. Any criminal use will be approved and endorsed on condition that Villain.net receives a ten percent commission from all monetary gains.”

  Jake went back on the Web site in the hope that he could still download the powers and experiment with them on his own. A message in the center of the screen read “SERVICE RUNNING” and prevented him from clicking any of the options. Jake was disappointed. How long would he have to wait to experience that power again?

  He shut down the computer and crossed to his window. Outside it was a gloriously chilly day. He glanced at the mirror on his wall, which was almost concealed by stickers and postcards he’d amassed, and ran a hand across his face. He did seem a little paler than usual.

  Jake decided he should get something to eat and then maybe find his gang around town. At least that would give him something to do rather than just sit and wait.

  The week slowly crawled by without any word from Basilisk. Jake began to obsessively check his e-mail. His elation at finding a new message was shattered when it turned out to be from Big Tony, with a short abusive paragraph, which Big Tony had no doubt found hilarious when he wrote it.

  One day, out of curiosity, Jake typed “Basilisk” into a search engine and chose one of the first of the two and a half million hits, which was a link to Wikipedia. The entry explained that the basilisk was a mythical creature whose gaze could kill. Jake wondered if Basilisk had named himself or if it was a nickname given by others.

  Jake longed to tell his friends about his experience, but knew they would accuse him of lying, and no doubt it would all end in a fight. Another side of Jake whispered selfish thoughts: this was a gift for him, not them.

  His ambivalence toward the gang must have started showing. Scuffer pulled Jake aside to have a whispered conversation as they walked back from yet another knuckleheaded expedition to a street corner.

  “You feelin’ all right?” Scuffer asked, his eyes constantly twitching as though he couldn’t focus on one thing.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, I know this sounds a bit … weird … you know, but you’re lookin’ white like a ghost. Not turnin’ into a Goth, are ya?”

  “Just not sleeping enough,” Jake replied casually. But in fact he had noticed that. His face was normally pink and healthy, but dark bags had slowly appeared under his eyes even though he had slept longer than usual.

  “And you don’t seem to be havin’ fun no more.”

  Jake glanced at him, and concealed a smile. Could it be that this band of roughneck thugs was actually worried that their faithful leader was losing interest in them?

  “You know how it is. I’ve just been thinking about things. That’s all.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just stuff,” Jake replied, deliberately ambiguous. From the corner of his eyes he saw Scuffer glance at him, but he didn’t say anything else.

  By Thursday, Jake had decid
ed not to meet his friends at their regular rendezvous and sent them a text message to cancel. He was sure they would react aggressively and he turned off his phone so he couldn’t receive the barrage of replies from the three of them. Besides, he had something else to think about. After checking his e-mail for what must have been the tenth time that morning, he had received one simple message from Villain.net. Just two words: “SERVICES REQUIRED.”

  Jake waited in his room for further instructions. Outside, the fine day had become stormy. Torrential rain pelted the windows and lightning forked overhead. Jake watched the light show from his window. He loved thunderstorms, in direct contrast to his sister, who was always frightened by them and preferred to hide in her closet until they passed.

  He suddenly became aware that somebody was standing just beyond the toolshed at the bottom of the garden, hidden by the trees. Another flash of lightning did little to illuminate the figure. But Jake was sure he knew who it was.

  “Basilisk!” Jake grabbed his scuffed black leather jacket from the floor, and climbed out of the window. He ran across the waterlogged lawn, and the figure moved farther back into the trees that separated Jake’s yard from a field.

  Jake pushed away the branches, and then saw the SkyKar on the edge of the field. Basilisk, sitting inside, motioned him over. Jake was delighted and sprinted to the vehicle.

  “Quickly, we have much to do,” Basilisk said with a sense of urgency. Jake saw him scrutinize a monitor showing a radar display of what he presumed was the immediate area.

  “Good to see you too,” Jake said with heavy sarcasm. This time he buckled himself firmly in the seat as the gull-wing doors closed on them with a pressurized hiss.

  The SkyKar lifted from the ground and shot off toward the clouds as lightning flared again.

  A damp figure watched from the trees. He’d managed to attract Jake’s attention when he had seen him at his bedroom window, and had been planning on leaping out to frighten him.