Max took a seat between Gene and Damian in the lecture hall. He glanced around, picking out where Malik and Molly sat on separate sides of the hall. After clocking those two, Max carefully noted the shadows that were closest to the hall’s two exits, just in case he needed to escape quickly. If the purpose of this Villainous Code and Ethics class was to teach the assembled first-year students to be wary of their enemies, Max was already well-prepared to ace the final exam.

The cavernous room was amphitheater-styled, with rows of seats arranged in a semi-circular pattern, each row elevated slightly above the one in front of it to provide an unobstructed view of the vacant lectern and the blackboard behind it. There were no drones, no holographic displays or other signs of futuristic technology, and no costumed Villains. If it weren’t for the servitors posted at the four corners of the room, the traditional classroom would make Max think he was enrolled in a typical college instead of stuck in an institution that knocked him upside the head when he tried to leave it.

Max settled into his seat, surrounded by a buzz of anticipation from the other students. Gene leaned over, whispering, “Did you guys hear about the instructor, Professor Zorblax?”

“What about him?” Max asked.

Gene’s eyes shone with the excitement of a gossip sharing a juicy tidbit. “Rumor has it he’s actually an alien from the Andromeda galaxy. They say he came to Earth on a mission to study Unreals, but got so fascinated that he never left. He’s got a third eye, hidden under his toupee. Because of it, he’s got X-ray vision!” Despite the outlandish tale, Gene’s wide-eyed belief was evident.

Damian cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Who told you that?”

“A third year in the Anarchy Division.”

Damian shook his head. “Gene, if there are two things I’ve learned in my time here, it’s this: Believe only half of what an upperclassman tells you, and none of what an Anarchist tells you.”

“You think she was lying?” Gene demanded.

“Considering how proof of extraterrestrial intelligence would be the biggest news in world history since the Carrington Event, yes, I’d say she was lying.”

Gene’s face fell. “Oh. I guess it’s good I didn’t follow her advice about wrapping my body in tinfoil to block Zorblak’s prying eyes. She said he’s a real creep about using his X-ray vision.”

In a huff, Gene crossed her legs. The motion made an unmistakable crinkling sound. Damian and Max exchanged a look.

“Oh god, Gene.” Max’s head sank into his hands. “Tell us you didn’t—”

“Not my whole body,” Gene said defensively, her face red. “I just lined my panties and bra with foil, is all. You know, to be on the safe side. Figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“And if we’re in need of a walking, talking baked potato, you’ve got us covered,” Damian said, his green eyes twinkling.

Gene straightened haughtily, crinkling again. “Ha-ha. Go ahead, make your lame jokes, funny man. But if your little willies get ogled by some creepy alien X-rays while my privates stay private, we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

One of the lecture hall’s doors swung open, and Strategos strode in. The headmaster’s unexpected appearance commanded immediate silence as the ebony-skinned man situated himself behind the lectern. Max had flashbacks of Strategos similarly positioned behind a podium during his orientation welcome speech. Just like then and every other time Max had seen the school’s leader, he wore a severe dark suit and tie. Between his somber clothes and serious weathered face, the long-limbed man looked like a former professional basketball player who had retired to become an undertaker.

“Welcome to Villainous Code and Ethics,” Strategos began, his resonant voice echoing with authority. “Or, since we Villains do love our acronyms, VICE class. I am your instructor. Today, we will discuss—”

He paused, an eyebrow arching at an interruption. “Yes, Ms. Fletcher?”

Gene lowered her wildly waving hand. “I thought Professor Zorblax was our instructor. That’s what the syllabus says.”

“I have decided to take Professor Zorblax’s place.” Max could have sworn Strategos’ eyes flicked to him for an instant, but at this distance from the man, he couldn’t be sure. “From time to time, I like to hop back into the pedagogical saddle. I hope that meets with your approval, Ms. Fletcher.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Fine by me,” Gene said, the disappointment in her voice belying her words. “It’s just that, if I had known you’d be looking at us and not Professor Zorblax, I’d have worn different underwear.”

The class tittered. For the first time since Max had known the headmaster, he looked like he didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he said, “I don’t know what you mean by that, Ms. Fletcher, and I suspect I don’t want to know. What I want to know instead is what constitutes a hero. Since you’re so garrulous today, perhaps you can enlighten us.”

“Under the Unreal Accords,” Gene said, “a certified Hero is an Unreal who has registered their powers with their country’s government and the Unreal Council. They must have completed training at an Unreal Council-sanctioned academy and obtained a Hero certification. This allows them to legally use their powers in service of society as a whole, adhering to a strict code of conduct established by the Unreal Council.”

Damian, surprised by her no-nonsense underwear-free response, looked at Gene like she had sprouted a second head. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Strategos nodded, looking somewhat surprised himself. “Correct, Ms. Fletcher. That’s the textbook definition of a Hero with a capital H. But what I was really asking about is this: what makes a hero with a small h? In other words, what does ‘hero’ as a concept mean? Mr. Gibson, perhaps you can tell us.”

The student, caught off guard, stammered, “Uh, doing good things, I guess?”

“And what defines ‘good’?” Strategos probed. Max leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.

“Society’s norms?” another student ventured.

“Precisely,” Strategos agreed. “Society dictates those norms. But who controls society?”

“The people do?” Gretchen offered tentatively. “The majority, I mean.”

A wry smile cracked Strategos’ face. “The oppressed majorities of North Korea, Iran, and the Kingdom of Mexico might disagree with your characterization of how much they control society.”

Gretchen’s bald head flushed. “You know what I mean. I’m not talking about people under dictatorships. I mean people in the free world.”

“Ah yes, the so-called ‘free world.’” Strategos leaned forward, his gaze sweeping across the students. “Let’s explore that free world. If the majority rules, does that always result in justice and goodness? What happens when the majority is manipulated, misinformed, or simply indifferent?”

The room was silent as students exchanged uncertain glances.

“Let me put it another way,” Strategos continued. “In history, many acts we now condemn were once legal and supported by the majority. Slavery, for instance. Does legality equal morality? Are laws and ethics synonymous?”

Molly raised her hand. “Laws are supposed to be based on ethics, but they’re really about power, aren’t they?”

“Bingo.” Strategos snapped his fingers. “Laws are the tools of those in power. They can be ethical. But often, they are deeply unethical, merely vehicles to serve the interests of a particular group. With that said, let’s return to Heroes and Villains as the Unreal Accords define them as terms of art. A Hero is sworn to uphold the law. If we agree that laws can be unethical, can a thinking person really say that Heroes always uphold justice, while Villains always disrupt it?”

Strategos pointed at Max. “Mr. Blackwood, you look like you have something to say. What’s your take?”

Max hesitated, then spoke.

“It seems like heroes and villains are just labels. Who gets called one or the other just depends on who’s telling the story.” Max was trying to pander to his audience, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he actually meant them. Sheriff Barker, for instance, was a sworn upholder of the law, but he was a bigger villain than most of the people Max had met at Prometheus. The only thing that didn’t make him a Villain in the Unreal Accords sense was the lawman’s lack of powers.

Strategos nodded approvingly.

“Exactly. As the cliché accurately puts it, the victor writes the history books. Let’s take a real-world example.

“With World War II, the Allies are traditionally viewed as the heroes, and the Axis powers as the villains. That raises a question: Does victory alone make one a hero? If the Axis powers had instead won, would they immediately be the heroes of the situation because of their victory? Or, is there an objective good and evil? An objective right side and wrong side, regardless of who’s the victor and who’s the loser? Were Jewish concentration camps evil simply because Germany lost the war, or are concentration camps evil, period?”

A murmur of discussion rippled through the students.

“Now, let’s bring this back closer to home,” Strategos said, pacing with measured steps. “Under the Unreal Accords, those who register, comply, and conform are Heroes. Those who don’t are Villains. The supposed good guys versus the so-called bad guys. But what if the Accords are fundamentally unjust? History amply demonstrates that laws passed by the majority to regulate the conduct of a tiny minority are rarely fair and equitable. In fact, I defy you to show me one instance where such a law was just.

“What if the law in question oppresses rather than protects? In such a scenario, isn’t rebelling against the law a heroic act in the true, small h sense of the word? As the noted existential psychologist Rollo May once said, the opposite of courage in our society is not cowardice. It is conformity.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, but students remained seated, deep in thought.

Strategos smiled. “Ponder these questions as you attend your other classes. Next time, we’ll dive into your required reading. Dismissed.”

Along with the rest of the first years, Max threaded his way toward the exit. The bottleneck caused by everyone trying to leave at once left Max stuck in a throng of students.

There was a sudden commotion behind him.

He turned around to see Molly shoving her way through the crowd, her expression thunderous. Her dark eyes were locked on Max, blazing with fury.

The students around Max stepped back, sensing trouble.

As Molly reached Max, her hand balled into a fist. The hall erupted into gasps as, without a word, she swung at him.