I'm only trying to help, you see.

You're suffering from a terrible delusion, my dear, but don't you worry—I can cure you. You've fought so hard; yes, I can see it in your eyes, you have the heart of a hero. A hero. Ha! Heroism is a sickness. What sane person would sacrifice themself for someone else? Self-preservation is natural law, naturally, obviously. You've dedicated your life to helping others, how noble of you! But don't worry, I'll have you cured in no time. Nobility is a symptom, but it'll go away once I treat you. I'll treat you right, alright? Courage and bravery are symptoms too. They're real problems, let me tell you. You see, courage and bravery are just poorly-imagined aliases for stupidity. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What's that? You don't believe me? That's another symptom, dear. Optimism is an awfully stupid facet of the human psyche. You'll only be disappointed. People will only let you down. Nothing is ever as good as it could be. Satisfaction is nonexistent. Your "optimism" is just a recipe for sorrow. And your idealism? That's even worse! You're so focused on bringing about some hypothetical utopian "better future" that you're missing out on the real present. Stupid, stupid.

Now, to be fair, I used to be just like you. Can you believe it? I too was once blinded by idealistic optimism, optimistic idealism, and everything in between. But then I learned. That's the difference between you and me. You haven't learned yet. But I can help you. I will help you. I'll be your hero, darling. I'll bet you like that, don't you? Deep down, I'll bet you're tired of being the big strong hero. It's tiring, all that thinking about other people. It's draining. It gets old. But you know that already. Don't you?

Aw, it's almost cute when you try to pretend you don't agree. You still believe in "human potential?" I'll tell you what human potential is. It's rotten, icky stuff. Sure we've got potential. Potential to be bad, to do bad. Sometimes someone does something "good," but really, what's the point of that? They're sick, silly. Just like you're sick. But I can help you! I can help you see.

How? How am I going to help you? Well, isn't it fun to have it be a surprise? No? Ah, well, I suppose if I were you I wouldn't want any more surprises either. You seemed pretty surprised when I defeated you. And the thing is, it wasn't even difficult! You're pathetic. The mighty hero, fallen so quickly. You're no better than anyone else. You're certainly not better than me. That's why I'm trying to help you, don't you understand? I'm doing this for your own good.

Sure, you might be a little different after this. Changed. I'm still experimenting with this stuff—the final recipe isn't perfected yet. Really, you're helping me. You're my little test mouse, my dear. I've tested this on a few others, and the results are really quite promising. Optimism gone, idealism gone. Trust in humanity? Gone. Self-sacrificing tendencies? Gone, very gone. Heroism? Ha! Gone, gone, gone. You'll have to find a new profession afterward. You'll be moving up in the world! Nothing's worse than being a fool. You think cruelty and hatred are great sins? Well, stupidity and ignorance are greater by far. See, the truth is good. And then it all follows from that, logically, naturally. And being a hero? Stupid. So really, you should be thanking me. You're going to owe me.

No, no—settle down! I'm doing this to help you. I'm doing this to help everyone. The world would be better without all this stupid "love for fellow humans." Once I get this right, once I get the mixture perfected, then everything is going to change. I'm going to change everything. I'm going to save everything. You know, I guess I'm a little bit of a hero myself! Isn't that ironic? Oh yes, the irony is just killing me. Killing, killing, hopefully this won't kill you—we've had a few unfortunate setbacks. But I think I've gotten it right this time. But we'll see, we'll see. It's almost time now, I think. I've been talking for long enough.

No, no—don't you get it? You're not going anywhere. You can't change anything. You're going to be cured of your foolish, ignorant, heroism whether you like it or not. Heroes are always the same. And the ending is the same every time. Maybe you'll have a different ending, maybe you'll be a new type of hero, a better type of hero.

Now, hold on. This might be a bit painful. But I'm only trying to help, you see.

I'm only trying to help you see.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Magic was flowing through the air, the sky was bright, and the village was happy. Then the darkness came and there was only a few people in all of the kingdoms who could protect us. I lived in a small village on the outskirts of our kingdom we were the last people that anyone would protect. On the day that the darkness came for us we were blessed with a hero to protect us. They were passing into our kingdom and we could see the light shining through in the Darkness pushing it away until the sky was glowing blue in the night with magic vanquishing the darkness. The people were happy and laughing. But not me. The light killed my mother, the light killed my best friend, the light stole my happiness. The so-called hero didn't care who died as long as the darkness was vanquished. We lost people in our village who were normal and had shown no signs of Darkness infecting them. If only the hero had healed them instead of vanquishing them. A hero who only cares about fame and doesn't think of consequences. It wasn't just me, I wasn't the only one who found nightmares and loss from the light. Stepping into the darkness was the only choice I had to save those who couldn't be saved by the Light.

Here is the main baddie from my first novel. *And the Tide Turns* it takes places in an alternate history where the Cold War lingers on longer, and the United States is on the brink of a second Civil War:

Gernot:

In the year 2054, the world stood fractured. The once-mighty United States teetered on the brink of collapse, torn apart by ideological warfare between its Red and Blue states. Its people, exhausted and bitter, had retreated into their echo chambers, while its leaders squabbled over the scraps of a once-united vision. Meanwhile, in the frozen expanse of a starving and embittered Russia, the seeds of a bold plan had taken root.

Gernot was born in 2029 in a dilapidated Moscow tenement. His childhood was a bleak tableau of scarcity, where breadlines snaked endlessly through the city’s icy streets, and whispers of the “great betrayal” filled every home.

For the Russians, the post-Cold War promises of prosperity had long faded, replaced by a grim new reality: an America-dominated global economy that had left them in the dust.

Gernot’s parents, once loyal citizens, grew increasingly radicalized, filling his mind with stories of how the West had strangled Russia’s future.

By the time Gernot turned 20, his parents were gone—his father to cirrhosis and his mother to malnutrition during a particularly harsh winter. With nothing left to lose, he joined the remnants of Russia’s intelligence apparatus. It was there that his brilliance for strategy, languages, and psychological manipulation was recognized, and he was given command of his own private group called The Red Hand that operated in the shadows of the Kremlin.

Gernot comes into some old journal written by an Australian scientist who was a good friend of Nikolai Tesla. In these entries Gernot and his crew were able to figure out how to travel into the past, however it was traveling into the future that Gernot was interested in. why conquer the past and change his future so that he does not exist? He wished to learn from the scientist the method to travel into the future and bring back with him weapons and intelligence to win a war in his current era.

Gernot’s Perspective:

For Gernot, the mission was more than duty; it was salvation. He had seen the hunger in his sister’s sunken cheeks, the desperation in his neighbors’ eyes as they burned furniture to keep warm, and the hopelessness of a nation trapped in the shadow of its former glory. To him, America wasn’t just a rival—it was the architect of his people’s suffering.

“They preach freedom while they hoard the world’s wealth,” his handler once said, and Gernot believed every word. The Red Hand taught him to see the United States as a decadent empire, too absorbed in its own internal squabbles to notice the havoc it had wrought on the rest of the world.

But Gernot wasn’t blind to the dangers. Time travel was a Pandora’s box, and each mission into the past came with greater risks of destabilizing the future. Yet he pressed on, even as whispers spread of unforeseen consequences—vanishing agents, ripples in the timeline that erased entire villages, and strange anomalies that hinted at something darker beneath the fabric of time itself.

I could go on and on about Gernot and his motivations but I’d love for you to read them yourselves. And the Tide Turns is available on Amazon. If time travel is not your thing, check out On the Hit List. A roaring comedic story in the vein of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off meets Super Bad meets The Hangover. And if that doesn’t tickle thy pickle. My latest a semi-police procedural character drama about a real life LAPD detective called In the Hunt is available too.

He's a leader, a visionary. He's relentless in his pursuit of a better future, a more perfect future. He's responsible for founding Sinclair Enterprises, the corporation that connects humanity with the latest technological advancements. He brought the first men to Mars back in 2063. He's a pioneer, a visionary. He's single-handedly keeping the national space program alive and the military outfitted in the most cutting-edge equipment.

The world seen from inside Sinclair's tower at the manufactured peak of Silicon Valley radiates abundance. His army of drones fly all throughout the sky, casting shimmering lights down on the modern city. He's old enough to remember when it was renamed the capital of New America, after the second revolution. He's young enough to witness with his eyes the havoc that humanity has wreaked on the world.

Pollution. Extreme poverty. Famine—crops withering up in waves throughout the globe. Plummeting fertility rates, which led to his forefathers beginning their research into genetic engineering. The Sinclairs went from owning 99% of the world's diamond mines to leading the world's largest tech empire. They make the smartphones you text on and the cars you drive.

Leaders around the world were failing to provide answers or solutions. That's one thing they all had in common: an inability to act. So he took control of the reins. If you can think of it, Sinclair Enterprises probably makes it or powers it—including the government.

He's the richest man in the world. If you ask anyone in the media, they'll say he's the smartest man in the world. His digital infrastructure happens to power every network. He happens to own the social media companies their messages are distributed to the masses on.

He just does so much good, you see. Seeing the chaos all around him shaped his philosophy: humanity is nothing but buggy hardware in dire need of a software update. People are incapable of self-regulation and true progress without the sacrifices of the many and the governance of the few. Disorder is humanity's greatest weakness. Consolidation of power and control is the solution.

Sinclair Enterprises continues to expand its reach into every corner of every mind and market. The latest venture he announced was a project that evolved his grandfather's clandestine genetic research into Project Genesis, a program intended to preserve the genetic blueprints of mankind to protect biodiversity in the event of inevitable manmade disaster. It was inevitable at this rate. The only question was: how? Mutually assured destruction via nuclear warheads? The complete elimination of our abilities to reproduce until every last one of us dies out?

With Project Genesis, we'll all be able to store our genetic code to rebuild a new wave of humans. A do-over. Thanks to Damian Sinclair, humanity has a second chance to do better. And it goes without saying that Sinclair will only deploy the genetic bank in the event of catastrophe—that must be why he doesn't say it. We didn't really get to read the fine print.

He shares a lot with his foe: their icy blue eyes, the unwavering ambition, the computer engineering skills. Oh, and 100% of their DNA.

Adrian is Sinclair's clone, which he finds out one late night spent investigating at his employer, Sinclair Enterprises. Sinclair's grandfather executed Phase 1, which began to seed Sinclair clones throughout the planet. He himself finished the total replacement of natural humanity, as the last non-clone died quietly in a secret government cell last year. Adrian uncovers the dark truth. And Sinclair hates him for it. Hates him for defying his programming.

All Sinclair wants to do is erase imperfection and unpredictability from the world. He could've followed through with his vision if it weren't for the foolish meddling of one young man grappling with his identity. He could've cemented his legacy, ensuring his influence persisted even after his death. But this junior engineer is hard to evade and even harder to catch.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is my original character from my unpublished novel, Legacy.exe. Find chapter 1 on my profile.

Antagonist/MC: Jaydee Tram

Hero: Wyatt Eberly/Iridescent

The Villain: The Graduate Committee

From my story titled 'The Worst Supervillain Ever.' Takes place in a future where just about everyone has a superpower, the government keeps strict regulation on active power use, and a college student in graduate studies for a superpowered person lawyer degree has agreed to become a supervillain to supplant his less than stellar marks.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jaydee Tram was just six years old when he had heard of Rosalyn on TV. He'd been eating a bowl of tomato soup that day.

Jaydee had been just nine years old when his lovely Mother, sometimes nicknamed Thumbelina Ballerina, introduced him to her side hustle. Thus developing the tertiary skill of making paper flowers.

When had been the moment he'd figured out what to do with their life?

And yeah, turns out girl and boy-- they just didn't do it. Ideally Jaydee would be xir. But for some reason that still wasn't an option yet.

Possibly when he had been in History class.

--It all started with a Super Virus--

Initially mistaken for a strain of fever, leaving strings of patients hospitalized and sometimes institutionalized for vivid hallucinations.

Powers often manifested after the illness itself had subsided. Or sometimes in the emotional stress.

Either way, they were witnessed quite enough times that even an apathetic, money-centric government had to take notice.

And Jaydee never got tired of asking (lie) when did any government see anything they wouldn't love to exploit?

Jaydee remembers that that's the moment they had made the connection, between the Rosalyn facility rediscovered in New Mexico. And why his Mother-- who had inherited granny's Pirouette-- had been so angry.

From Rosalyn onwards, former inmates, human beings who had been abused and misused as weapons of destruction and political gain took to the streets and either underground or out in daylight demanded equality in some form or another.

Human rights violations and abuses would continue, from the government essentially dog chipping the Afflicted in a "registry," to the underground snapping up children with Abilities out of their homes and relocated to "safety." Which funnily enough, wasn't always just code for conscription.

Defending supers, was the big new business.

So at eighteen Jaydee chose A Qualitatives Law major.

Qualities: the politically correct denomination for those with abilities. Superpowers. Even if you don't exactly call those who protect from Classers (villains) superheroes.

Jaydee by general rule just knew how to wind the right people around and how to be a bit less of that or a bit more of that in a given place.

So they could schmooze the right radical nutcase professor for a "undeserved" A grade in his Qualities Ethics class, Jaydee made about one or three ride-or-die friends and other acquaintances who either knew where to pick up bootleg study guides or where the best parties were.

The partying in part, may be where he had gone wrong. Then again, he had only fallen asleep in three classes. A week.

Well whatever. Either way Jaydee was genuinely freaking the hell out about being expelled!

And then, the Graduate Committtee-- get this, expelled him!

There in that moment Jaydee's entire world came down. Sure, just spit on all the money Mom slaved away for, doled out on her child's request to take graduate studies. Why hadn't they just settled?

There were still opportunities with the basic Law package.

Not good opportunities but some manipulation and maybe flirting with the higher ups could have gotten Jaydee somewhere.

Mx. Jaydee Tram was officially expelled.

It was over--

Unless...

And the looks on their faces had just been... evil.

Almost-- villainous.

He kind of should have seen this coming.

Turns out this college of theirs, they as college students profited actual healthy and five star food, gaming areas, and an actual campus house for end of year bashes off the money of federal offense crimes and general villain activity.

And now, their extra credit project for a down-on-their luck gender fluid student was to become the next thing on the Police and Supers Class Division List. Top ten. If doable, the old fifties Dad head so politely requested.

**Jaydee and Wyatt**

Jaydee looked up.

Too tired to move, to twitch, Jaydee had crashed back on the apartment floor watching the ceiling fan lazily spin with a whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Did Hero agents call dibs on that one special villain?

Did Jaydee have a nemesis now?

And also, who knew tabloid news did segments keeping up with the nemesiships. Whom certainly seemed to think the new "hotshot" purloining purses and goodie-goodie Iridescent were locked in a fiery moral tug-a-war. A very shippable tug-a-war.

He and Eberly had made eighty hits on AO$.

Jaydee ran his hands down his face.

And worst of all, barely eighteen Wyatt was so-- so bright.

Nothing like the grizzled, bitter adults they had expected.

Iris had literally scolded him to eat three square meals a day!

He also had a lot of speeches on hand.

All Jaydee wanted was to recuperate the required Stats credit and his half his elective roster.

Only an amazing Capstone could make that many D's go away.

And motive! Get out of town.

He was running on red bull, ramen, and childish spite.

*That Time in a Bank Vault*

Jaydee distinctly decided, they had to stop lying on floors.

People could get the wrong idea about them.

Besides, this floor was much less comfortable than the always oddly warm but smooth tiling in his apartment.

But also dirt cheap apartment floors weren't designed to withstand even the lightest of wind from a Qualitative.

Right now, Jaydee was missing dinner with their Mother and that "guy-friend" she wanted to pretend wasn't her boyfriend.

"We're not getting out of here," Iridescent moaned, finally giving up and wandering over to a nice box to sit by.

His legs giving out from under him.

"Congratulations then," Jaydee snorted from their own spot, smiling quite an unseemly, stretched smile that he'd developed for his 'role' from here on out.

"Excuse me!"

"You won, by morning someone will wonder where dear Eberly Wyatt has gone off too, they'll check your emails, your log history--" Jaydee put that little dusted spot in his eye called nostalgia-- "it must be nice, being so cared for."

"I was right here when you took that call from your Mother," Wyatt corrected.

"Threat to feed you your own starter moustache stands. Not a sound. Not. A word to anyone about my Mother."

Jaydee loved their mother. Adored her.

"If I am serious about anything..." so serious that they'd dare get off their back... "it is to not involve my mother with the government."

And there was no pretending to their distaste this time. Unlike when Jaydee had been in Professor Hemp's class.

5-10-24

Today I accidentally washed my hands. And it won't come off.

5-7-24

It it coming off, but I had to really try.

I thought I would feel relieved. I don't.

6-7-24

I am so happy!! I feel like a new person. I'm already craving the rush I feel at the tic of his hand when time swirls, and my memories unfurl until nothings left, but the joys of youth and an energy surplus.

6-8-24

Today we are going to an escape room. I am so excited. I am going to turn all the sinks on till their hands turn black and they feel it every second of the day, as they are dying away.

.............................................................................................................................................

What is wrong with me

My hands, are cracking?

There is no actual way, like w h a t t h e s i g m a ? ? ?

6-9-24

I am an anomaly.

I have to run.

My parents kicked me out.

That rush.

I will never feel again.

I will never forget.

Anything.

3-11-27

I am Cleo.

A 17 year old female.

I am a part of the troupe. Number 174.

I am not an anomaly.

I am something else altogether.

And I love to destroy.

Because I get to see their faces when I do. And never forget them.

That is something to be thankful for.