Chapter Five: Villainous Villainy

The Authoress can understand the need for roped wrists and a maybe the blindfold, but the gag is really pushing it. Considering how much Mastermind was gabbing to her, and the fact that she has a narrative voice on tap, you'd think this would strike him as uncalled for. Plus, the taste is just plain nasty, and she doesn't want to hazard a guess at what he gagged her with. The words 'old sweat sock' are thrumming in her head.

"We're here," he says after a great deal of walking, punctuated by stumbling, tripping, falling, and the odd bout of staggering.

The Authoress would reply, but... well, you know the sitch. Aside from the gag, she's greatly worried about her core personality right now. That's the main reason she's allowed herself to be manhandled in such an unbecoming way. She's not quick on the draw – in any interpretation – and she has more than a sneaking suspicion that in the time it would take her to formulate a coherent escape plan and act on it, any damage to her person would already have been done.

Her Internal Characters are equally concerned about her, as several of them have made plain during the trip hence. While she can't technically die in the fictional realm, their well-being depends on her state of mind as much as her continued existence, which is in turn directly linked to her core personality. It's a self-preservation thing as much as care for their creator – in some cases more the former than the latter.

There is a short period of whooshing noises, followed by what sounds like a metal door slamming. The Authoress' stomach does a curious flip-flop before she is finally allowed to stop. She's pretty sure she knows where she is. Reluctant or not, Mastermind is still an XME villain, and there's one place all villains tend to go in the Ambit.

It's called the Lair, and it's as despicable as it sounds. From the outside it is a boring office building – because in most forms of fiction, office buildings are the most mundane setting you can get. Sometimes deviations from this occur – an office building on a beach or in the Arctic would stick out like a sore thumb – but for the most part fictional monotony is epitomised by the nondescript office building. Which makes it perfect cover for an evil villains' hideaway.

Attendance at the Lair is not obligatory. What would be the point? Villains, by definition, would not want to conform to anything remotely resembling rules. Still, they all seem to gravitate here, no matter how tenuous their link to villainy is. There are some characters in the Lair who barely even qualify as real villains, and others who spend literally all day, every day brooding villainously and concocting evil schemes against their respective heroic adversaries. Once a week the older, more experienced contingent hold seminars on The Art of Cackling, and How To Properly Finance World Takeover Attempts, amongst other things. The Authoress, while channelling an iniquitous Internal Character, once attended a lecture by Mojo Jojo on the proper use of giant lasers.

The Lair is a sort of microcosm of the various facets of villainy. Think of a bad-guy setting, and odds are the Lair has one stashed somewhere. And if not, it's only a few seconds away, thanks to the ever-evolving nature of the Ambit. The Lair oozes wickedness, and evildoers are generally attracted to evil places. It's like wasps to honey – leave it around for long enough and soon you'll have a whole buzzing, stinging swarm on your hands.

The only thing The Authoress has not figured out is whom exactly Mastermind has brought her here to see, so she is exceedingly grateful when he finally removes the gag and blindfold.

Not so much so when she sees who is sitting in front of her.

"Oh, bloody hell! Do you have any idea how incredibly cliché it is to have you featured at this point in the story?"

Magneto doesn't seem at all bothered by her ranting. He just sits and sips his dry white elegantly, and in such a way as clandestine teenagers raiding their parents' wine racks will emulate but never truly master. Carelessly, he swills what's left around in the tall glass, from which sprouts a small tropical umbrella. Then he speaks.

"You really should be more careful about whom you talk to. Anyone on the street could be a dangerous criminal. The world's not a very safe place to be, these days."

There is a great irony to his words, but The Authoress chooses not to comment. She is still fuming at the outright cliché of him being behind all this.

"Is it so very formulaic for me to be the brains of the outfit?" he asks nonchalantly, and in that indifferently hazardous voice that only true villains can master.

"Very brainy plan there, by the way. Send out your goon and have him tie me up with a sock in my mouth? Suave, Mags, real suave. How long did it take you to think up? A whole five minutes?" This is a habit The Authoress has picked up recently – shortening Magneto's name to Mags. She knows she shouldn't really be so blatant; saying it to his face like this, but honestly, the whole cliché things really has her ticked. She is the kind of writer who goes out of her way to avoid the risk of writing clichés, and feels uncomfortable even reading something that includes them, so it infuriates her that by waltzing into this fic unannounced, he has cornered her into writing exactly what she despises. Never mind if he's the villain, she's The Authoress, and she's irate.

And he is the villain, make no mistake about that.

Magneto is the true baddie of XME. Long before Apocalypse was even broached by scriptwriters and producers, good old Erik Lenscherr was in there. Even his character design emphasised it – there are far more villains in the world who wear swirly cloaks than there are heroes. Plus, blood red and purple? So not a heroic colour scheme.

At first, he was peddled as an everyday, incurable Saturday morning cartoon scoundrel. All he had to do was stand threateningly in the background and viewers automatically knew which role he was there to fulfil. Even something so simple as playing with paperclips became threatening with Magneto at the helm, and he stirred the 'boo, hiss' reaction from his audience like a pro, with absolute minimum effort.

Then, slowly, the scriptwriters started giving him more depth. They introduced his children, made him a kind of family man – albeit rather a fucked-up one. They gave him a purpose beyond pure competition with Xavier, or evil for evil's sake. Take away some of the criminal activity, and he really does care about Mutantkind. On a fundamental level, even. He gained motivation, and the repercussions of his past actions – even the off screen deeds – came back to haunt him in new and interesting ways. In short, he developed as a character. And this is both what makes him the definitive villain, and a sort of anti-hero you can imagine yourself truly empathising with.

Think about it. Magneto's philosophy isn't really that different from Xavier's. They agree that humanity would react badly to Mutantkind, seeing it as a threat and a menace – and are proved right after the second season finale. In the comics, the two of them were friends for a long, long time before their stances on Mutantkind ultimately drove them apart, and this sort of prior rapport has been alluded to in XME, too. It is not Magneto's philosophy that causes conflict with Xavier; it is the course of action that stems from it.

Personally, The Authoress is of the opinion that what makes Magneto a perfect villain is that he is so very similar to Xavier. A few steps the other way, and Charlie boy could have been the one in the swirly cape. Likewise, Erik could have had the swanky mansion and teenaged, goody-goody superteam at his disposal. The kind of dichotomy and knife-edge arrangement between these two is what makes the difference between a noble, believable villain, and another saddo with the top button of his coat done up by his neck to make it a cape.

But what makes Magneto truly disturbing is that, in real life, if mutants really did exist on the scale that they do in XME – and all other X-Men incarnations for that matter – the majority of public support would probably be with him. Seriously.

People are frightened at the thought of something new and potentially dangerous – and rightly so, in some cases. It's been that way for centuries. Magneto's beliefs would be the kind of knee-jerk reaction mankind has been exhibiting for the past thousand years or so. His is a survivalist philosophy, and even human beings have a basic survival instinct. It may not be an easy option, but it's certainly one that would appeal to the panicky masses, and The Authoress would challenge any ordinary Joe to stand up and say they'd really put their own lives on the line, time and time again, for people whose own knee-jerk reaction is to preserve themselves – often by any means necessary. She is honest enough to say that, in that kind of situation, she could truthfully imagine herself choosing a way that might ensure her own survival.

Which isn't to say that she likes Magneto as a character. Not at all. She can just understand what makes him an effective villain.

It's the uncertainty. He's good at his job, just like a plumber is good at fixing a burst water main, or an electrician is good at rewiring a house. As a character, Magneto's enigmatic to the point of being sphinx-like.

"I don't like you," she pouts.

"This is supposed to surprise me?"

Not really, but she felt like saying it. If she were untied she would fold her arms, but she isn't, so she settles for tilting her chin and hoping she looks imposing and not like she has a runny nose.

"Uh..."

She'd forgotten about Mastermind, but he's still here. Looking a little contrite, she's pleased to say.

"Should I untie her?"

"Yes!"

"No," Magneto replies, shaking his head. "She'll try something."

"What, exactly, am I going to try? I don't even know what part of the building we're in."

He waves his hand as if dismissing her words.

The Authoress takes a deep breath and counts to ten. "So," she says slowly, "why am I here?"

"How would you take it if I said 'to give a perspective on villainy'?"

"How do you think?"

Magneto smiles in a... somewhat seductive manner. It's the only word the Authoress can think of to properly describe it, and it's more than a little disturbing.

"So if I told you I just wanted to force you into writing about me, how well would that go down?"

She thinks about this. Unfortunately, by ranting about clichés and whatnot, she may have done exactly what Magneto wanted. Which is a cliché all of its own. Walking into his trap? Got her right where he wants her? How many times have those lines been used? She scowls and blows hair from her eyes.

Magneto nods. "I thought so."

"Yeah, well... nuts to you."

He rolls his eyes. "You're not the most mature of writers, are you?"

"I laugh at fart jokes. What does that tell you? No – wait! Don't answer that."

Another depreciating look. She could get very tired of those. She turns to Mastermind and asks, "When did the ruling change?"

He blinks vacantly at her. "Excuse me?"

"The ruling. The rules."

"Uhh..."

"I'm the Authoress. You're the fictional characters. I'm supposed to outrank you."

Magneto snorts, just a little. Enough to get her attention. "My dear," he says in that way that makes you feel about two inches tall. You know the way – slightly nasal, emphasis on the first vowel – my deeeear. "Considering you're so proud of your pass onto the Illusory Network, you don't have much idea how things work in the Ambit, do you?"

That's a very dangerous question. She's semi-glad it's rhetorical, even if it would have been nice to come out with a witty quip. That would have knocked him down to size. It's not big or clever for a writer to scribe something openly bashing characters by reducing their intellect, but sometimes it's nice to have other characters take them down a peg or two. Vindicating.

Magneto gets up. His cape does that floaty thing, and not for the first time the Authoress marvels that fictional capes never get tangled up, or caught in doorways, or wrapped around ankles while running, or sucked into jet engines, or... you get the idea. Only in the fictional world. The Lair has a facet whereby all capes float threateningly, even when there's no breeze. Mojo Jojo was so impressed he stole the idea and had it instigated on him 24/7. It cheapened it a little for all the other villains, but generally they're too busy being villainous to take him to task.

"I believe our business is concluded," Magneto says, leaving his drink where it is. He picks up his helmet and carries it under his arm. "Good day, my dear."

"Uhh..."

"What is it, Mastermind?"

"What should I do with her?"

"Just dispose of her somewhere."

"No," the Authoress is hasty to put in. "Bad plan. Verrrry bad. Me no likey."

Magneto stops in the doorway, turns, and smiles that sensual smile again. "I would think," he says in a voice to match, "that that was the point."

The Authoress has a really good retort for that. She really does. And she'd voice it. Really she would. Except that at that moment, that precise moment, everything around her grinds to a gut-crunching, eyeball-rolling, head-spinning, tongue-furring... yeah. It all stops. As in, stops moving. All of it. Magneto freezes in the doorway, Mastermind is immobilized next to her, and she has that popped-soap-bubble sensation you get when you blow up a balloon too fast and all the blood rushes to your head. The cape is no longer fluttering. A dust mote hangs motionless in front of her face.

The Authoress looks around. She takes a deep, calming breath, aaaand... "What the fuck is going on around here?"