Edgar didn’t roll his eyes; a pink slip in Evil Inc is a two-cent solution. Upon placing his ivory handled piece on the table. Clank. He cracked his knuckles and rotated his head. “Oh,” he said, nodding and laughing as if he’d heard a corny knock-knock joke, “he was right, wasn’t he? Yes. We should change our plans.” With a lazy scowl and wave of his hand he glanced at the growing pool of still-warm blood. “Clean this up; we roll at dawn.”
How drab it was to need so many bodyguards. Yet feet away there were actual peasants breathing the same air, feeling the same daylight. Edgar paused. His guards paused. A smile cracked into his face as he imagined his boot penetrating a skull. How little brains there must be in the heads of these wretched poor. Surely it would be a kindness to snuff them out. He imagined a great nutcracker, the kind he used at Christmas time, perhaps mechanised. To stamp them out of existence, whilst fun, would mess up his cobblers work. ‘What invention,’ he mused, smiling once more, ‘an A.I. powered Jack the Ripper to clean up my streets, to save my London, to restore this calm and gentle land to her glory days.’
Alfred watched. He watched as if there were a rolling pleasant music quite at home within his skull. 'Ben,' he thought, 'appears to be doing rather well for himself.' At once the fine suit on his rigid limbs felt colder, the fabric less luxurious. The stitching that had felt so fine was clumsy. “Rita,” he said, soft and mellow; violins played, overpowering the flutes. “Rita. Do call my tailor, there’s a love. And, invite dear Ken for a cream tea. I insist. My treat.” Mr Kenneth Cotton would pay for his shabby work. Yes. He would be punished for it, humiliated. Maybe he would be so unfortunate that his business would burn to the ground. Yes. This would be a very sweet cream tea indeed. He smiled. The violins played on, their strings singing out beneath long-drawn batons. “Rita,” he said, his voice falling to a rumbling cello-hum. “Fetch me the king’s tailor! Find him. Bring him to me!”
The hero works from a sense of love and duty, a desire to protect others, a willingness to take on suffering if it keeps others safe. They use their aggression for noble purpose; they develop self control and an ability to do the harder thing when it is the right thing to do. The villain has only desire for power and money, they think nothing of making others suffer, so long as they gain advantage. Their aggression is destructive because they lack empathy, because they made choices for emotional coldness - those infinite paper cuts to the soul. The villain wallows in their own sense of victimhood rather than using their pains as part of their emotional education toward an empathic self. As such, a world of money only benefits the development of villains, heroes would work hard everyday for others and consider it an honour to have the chance to do so.
Both heroes and villains are aggressive; the difference is that the heroes have well developed self control, empathy and the ability to think with logic.
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