Memoirs of the Fallen: The Accidental Villain
Special thanks to The Plotters Guild, for being supportive and such good friends.
Helping Hands Kinder Garden and School for All Ages had never seen anything quite like it. The teachers there were used to screaming infants, moody teenagers and little children afraid to leave the safety of their owners. What they weren't used to was seeing nearly fifty robotic neopets fighting with ten or fifteen DoN Junior Volunteers in the hallways, their charges fleeing left, right and center to escape the battlefield. A certain dark furred blue Lupe ran into the first closed room he encountered, hoping to get away from the scene of the crime, only to figure out he had locked himself into the janitor's closet.
Great, he thought, just what I needed. Now, not only did my stupid drones get the idea to attack the school, I'm locked in a closet. What's next, the drones get annihilated by the defenders? The sound of screeching metal, blaster fire and the faint sound of someone or thing what crashing into a wall was answer enough.
Sitting on the floor, a decision to wait out the assault in mind, he listened to the muffled sounds of the teachers; he was half mad from boredom within minutes. A quick survey reveal nothing of interest; bottles of soap, a mop, broom, bucket, and a shelf holding several miscellaneous objects. Although... what was that crammed into the gap between the wall and shelf?
It was hard work to remove whatever it was from the tiny area where it had been placed; whoever had placed it there obviously hadn't wanted anyone to get it. Pushed to the very back, the only reason he had seen it was because of the bright red ribbon peeking out of its confinement. Certainly none of the adults would be able to see it unless they knelt and looked directly towards it.
With one final yank, he managed to withdraw it from its prison, to reveal it was only a notebook. The frayed red ribbon stuck carefully between its ebony covers, the yellowing pages adding an air of antiquity to the otherwise unimpressive object. A glittery gold title had been (somewhat crudely) written in the first page: Memoirs of the Fallen. Below it was what could only be portrayed as an introduction.
Welcome, it read.
If you are reading this, then you must belong to us; the fallen, the ones who have fallen by the wayside and gained a title as a rogue, a criminal and scoundrel. Those whose stories are recorded within the contents of this memoir are not all bad; we simple have been at the wrong place with the wrong people.
To those whom have been shamefully wrong, feel free to add to these pages, perhaps someday your wrongs shall be righted and you no longer need hide from those around you. If, by some chance this has fallen into the hands of one whom has been spared by fate, return this chronicle back to where you have found it and never speak of its existence. The Fallen Ones whom have written in this deserve at least that small action.
Curious, Shadow skimmed the different anecdotes before skipping to the first blank page and withdrawing the pen he always carried in his pocket. For several minutes he stayed there, pen hovering indecisively over the ancient page, wondering how he should start. Then he started to write, his small hand skating over the page.
I don't know how I managed to end up in this situation; one simply does not go to kinder garden, find their attack drones have an undiagnosed glitch from a fault in the programming that makes them attack the class, and end up hiding in a broom closet. I so wasn't my fault, my meepit scientists assured me they hadn't found any virus, but no one will believe me. All in all, my life has reached a point in which living as a hermit sounds appealing. Certainly my brother and sisters would agree to it, as would the defenders.
So, while I sit here among the janitor's cleaning supplies and listen to the sounds of my drones being smashed into a million pieces, I will try writing to pass the time; my eldest sister claims it is good to be creative. I certainly am not going out until I can say for certain they're destroyed and pretend to be the average, ordinary four-year-old I should be.
*sigh* There goes three months worth of effort and sleepless nights in all of... ten minutes? The defenders are better than I gave them credit for. Why can't they be the idiots in capes I took them for?
I never meant to be a villain; honestly, all I really wanted to be when I grew up was a scientist. Or an inventor. Heck, even a geeky programmer would be better than this. But no, I just had to listen and go with the babysitter like a good little Baby Lupe. Trust Aly to hand me over to a Sloth supporter who, ten minutes after being in charge, hops into a shuttle and gives me to Sloth as his newest test subject. Honestly, couldn't my daft teenage owner see the 'I love Sloth' T-shirt, beanie and putrid green jeans? I could.
Sometimes, humans can do the strangest things. Of course, given to the fact Aly enjoys being with people whose sanity I really must (and have) repeatedly questioned, this probably was the one of the safer options. Can you imagine what other horrors she could have come up with?
Not much of my days as Test Subject #592883 stayed with me after my escape, though the unbearable agony and the evil grin on Sloth's face have managed to permanently burn themselves into my mind. Now, almost a whole year later, I still have nightmare of those days; horror-movie-of-the-week type nightmares that fade as soon as I wake. Sloth hadn't been content with using me as any ordinary guinea pig, no sire; instead of making me big and strong like those huge, hulking idiot Grundo slaves of his, I end up as the 'lucky first test subject' of one of his new experiments.
Big and strong? Nope, try somewhere along the lines of freakishly smart and prone to brief bouts of insanity. Dang it, ol' Slothy could have at least had the decency to make me big and strong too. But no, apparently that's too much to ask for from the supposed 'evil-genius-soon-to-be-neopia's-dictator'. I hope the Space Faerie never finds the amulet he's in; he deserves to rot in a necklace.
Not only did his 'brilliance' manage to turn me from an innocent baby into a genius tapped in a baby's body, but the end result managed to scramble my brain. So here I am: four years old, freakishly smart and with an odd urge to create attack drones and take over Neopia.
This last one proves I deserve a medal or something; so far I have managed to (mostly) ignore the little voice in my head SHOUTING at me to conquer something. Instead I get my brother, sisters and owner practically threatening to lock me in a cell at the DoN Headquarters. How unfair is that?
Maybe this would be easier to deal with if SOMEONE would believe me that I didn't mean to do any of the things I've done; how was I supposed to know those boxes in the Space station warehouse had dynamite? Or that the pretty red button in the Darigan Citadel Underground would stop the engines? I blame the idiots in charge; surely Sloth and Darigan should have more sense than to leave dangerous things without labels or a 'do not touch' sign nearby? I hadn't meant to blow up the Space Station hangar nor crash the Citadel. They were accidents. Really.
...I have actually lost my mind. For the love of Fyora, I'm arguing with a piece of paper! Maybe it isn't such a good idea to go with Aly to her guild meetings. Sure, it's fun to go with the Plotters and discuss quantum physics with Alric and talk with Holidays about world domination but really if it starts messing with my head it might be better to avoid them.
Despite the fact I am always getting myself and others into trouble, I have never felt unwanted. Aly has always forgiven me and managed to right whatever I had done, never once doing anything more than giving me a punishment and, even then, I can see how much she loathes doing so. Maybe one day I will be able fully appreciate the family fate has allowed me to have, as well as the people I have been lucky enough to call friends. Friends that (however odd and insane) I care for, though I may never be able to reveal exactly how much, and I hope I will never have to lose a single one.
Shadow Brightflame, the Accidental Villain
Shadow slowly closed the journal, carefully placing it in the position in which he had found it. The sounds of battle had faded several minutes ago and he knew he would soon have to return to his innocent baby façade. For the first time in the year in which he had escaped the Space Station, he no longer felt uncertain or misunderstood; those unpleasant feelings had slowly dissipated as he had written. Maybe one day he would no longer need to hide his difference from others. But for now, he was content to rejoin the others with his masquerade as a naïve, blameless Baby firmly in place.
Author's Note: Third time's the charm, huh? This story is dedicated to my awesome guild members: Lizzy, Kal, Makayla, June, Katie, Stitch, Dragon and all the rest of the Plotters. Without them, I would still be a lonely Neopian, forever searching for someone as plot-crazed as me. Special thanks to my own brothers and sister, without them, I would have a sane, boring life and would never have written this story. Thank you Mermaid for letting me mention Alric. And lastly: To the Fallen, I salute you!