Stepping out of the X-Mobile, I squared my shoulders, adjusted my trench coat, and let out a deep, menacing laugh.

“Today,” I announced to no one in particular, “I continue the proud legacy of my father—the greatest villain the world has ever known. His shadow looms over me, a constant reminder of my destiny. And today, I shall—”

“Mr. Arthur!”

I froze mid-monologue, my momentum shattered as Jeremy’s familiar voice cut through my villainous ambiance. I turned to see him jogging toward me, his designer suit slightly rumpled and his tie askew. Despite his position as CEO of Evil Enterprises, he always looked like a kid who just found out Santa exists.

“Jeremy,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You’ve interrupted a very important moment of villainy.”

“Apologies, sir,” he said, bowing his head just enough to stroke my ego, “but I simply had to ask—when will the next World-Eating Food Contest be?”

I sighed, my posture relaxing. “Must you always bring up the contest? Do you not understand the brilliance of leaving them wanting more? Giving people a taste of culinary perfection and then withholding it forever? That is the true evil.”

Jeremy nodded, as he always did, with that curious blend of admiration and amusement. “Of course, sir. You’re a genius of depravity.”

“And don’t you forget it,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “Now, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Towns to brainwash, cities to control, and a legacy to uphold. Toodaloo. ”

With a flourish, I turned and marched toward the looming skyscraper ahead, my father’s words echoing in my mind: As long as you’re proud of what you’re doing, we’ll be proud of you.

Those words had shaped me, more than I liked to admit. My father—the infamous Dr. Malice—had vanished during a secret mission over the Antarctic when I was just a boy. He’d left behind a legacy of chaos and conquest that the world still whispered about. I’d spent my life trying to live up to that legacy, to make him proud wherever he was.

But sometimes… deep down in the quiet corners of my mind… I wondered if I was truly on the right path.

I pushed the thought aside as quickly as it came. Nonsense. I am the embodiment of evil! My pride is unshakable.

“Excuse me, sir,” Jeremy called after me, “but the mayor left another thank-you note for the food bank. Do you want me to file it under ‘bribes’ or ‘community goodwill’?”

“Bribes,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Always bribes! Let them think I’m buying influence.”

Jeremy’s voice carried a hint of a chuckle. “As you wish, sir.”

Entering my very own personal evil supply market. Every one looked up at me as I scanned the shelves looking for my next victim. The cashier quickly nodded in fear towards me in respect before continuing their days. I knew that they were hoping they wouldn’t become my target. Luckily for them I was looking for a much better target when I finally found one.

“ Hey you I called out walking with my unique swagger towards the register. The cashier looked up and I saw the fear in their souls as I walked past them. I heard them sighing in relief as I stopped by a man with tattered clothes which looked to small for his large frame. He was standing with his spine bent and appeared homeless with a shopping cart with a pack of instant noodles and some chicken.

“You know that isn’t the best way to spend way to get a bang for your buck. Follow me I turned while flapping my cap not giving the man room to argue.”

As I led the man through the aisles, my eyes locked onto him like a hawk sizing up its prey. His bewildered expression only emboldened me. I stopped abruptly in the middle of the store, spinning to face him.

“Alright,” I said, pointing a finger at his chest. “You’ve stumbled into the presence of greatness, and I cannot let you continue your life in culinary ignorance. Consider yourself… drafted.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

“Drafted?” he asked, glancing nervously at the automatic doors as if considering escape.

“Indeed,” I replied, leaning in for dramatic effect. “You are now my apprentice. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a master of nutrition, flavor, and frugality—or you’ll regret ever stepping foot in my Evil Supply Market.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a sharp wave of my hand. “Silence! Your first task is simple: create ten days’ worth of meals using only fifty dollars. They must be nutritious, flavorful, and efficient. Fail, and I’ll…” I paused, smirking. “Well, you’ll simply have to endure another one of my lectures.”

He paled, nodding quickly. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good.” I grabbed a basket and shoved it into his hands. “Now, let’s begin your education.”

The Lecture

We zigzagged through the aisles as I expounded on the art of cooking.

“Flavor is everything,” I declared, grabbing a handful of spices from the rack. “Garlic powder, paprika, and cumin—cheap, versatile, and essential for elevating even the most mediocre of dishes. No villain worth their salt would neglect the power of seasoning.”

The man nodded furiously, scribbling notes in a small notebook he’d pulled from his pocket.

“Vegetables,” I continued, gesturing dramatically to the produce section, “are not only affordable but vital for both nutrition and aesthetics. A well-placed sprig of parsley can make even gruel look appetizing.”

“And protein!” I snatched a pack of chicken thighs off the shelf. “Forget overpriced fillets. Thighs and drumsticks are cheaper, more flavorful, and perfect for soups, stir-fries, or roasting.”

By the time we reached the checkout, his basket was brimming with carefully selected items, all within budget.

“Impressive,” I said, scanning the contents with a critical eye. “You might survive after all. But don’t get too comfortable—we’re not finished yet.”

The Discovery

As we made our way to the exit, I noticed something strange. The air in the store felt… different. Colder, heavier, like the atmosphere before a storm. I stopped in my tracks, narrowing my eyes.

“Wait,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man glanced around nervously. “What is it?”

“There’s something… off.” I turned toward a previously empty corner of the store. Now, towering shelves loomed where there had been nothing but blank walls before. The fluorescent lights flickered ominously above them.

“What in the—” I started, striding toward the new section.

As we approached, my jaw dropped. Every shelf, every product, every label bore my face. Boxes of instant rice, cans of soup, bags of frozen vegetables—all emblazoned with the same exaggerated caricature of me, complete with my trademark cape and villainous grin.

“What… is this?” I whispered, picking up a box of macaroni and cheese labeled ‘Arthur’s Evil Cheddar Delight.’

The man stood behind me, wide-eyed. “Is this… your doing?”

I shook my head, utterly baffled. “Impossible. I didn’t authorize this. Who would dare use my likeness without my permission?”

The sheer variety of products was overwhelming. There were ready-made meal kits with instructions, fresh fruits and vegetables neatly arranged in biodegradable packaging, even a small cooler stocked with cuts of inexpensive but high-quality meat.

“This…” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “This isn’t just food. This is a statement. A movement.”

The man cautiously picked up a package of pre-seasoned chicken thighs. “These are… actually really affordable. And the seasoning mix looks amazing.”

I snatched it from his hands, glaring at the label. Sure enough, the ingredient list was meticulously crafted, the kind of blend I would have made myself.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This doesn’t make sense. Who did this? How did this section even appear? There was no construction, no—”

I froze, my mind racing. Could this be… my father’s doing? Had he left behind some hidden mechanism, a legacy that had only now revealed itself?

I turned to the man, my expression a mix of awe and suspicion. “Stay here. I need to investigate.”

He hesitated. “But what about my challenge?”

“Consider it postponed,” I snapped, already marching toward the back of the new section. “Something bigger is at play here. And I will uncover the truth.”

As I disappeared into the maze of shelves, one thought burned in my mind: Is this a gift… or a test?

Before disappearing into the mysterious new section of the store, I turned back to the man. He was still clutching the basket, staring at me as though I’d just upended his entire worldview. Perhaps I had. No matter.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a black business card embossed with my emblem—two interlocking “A”s surrounded by a dramatic splash of flames. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed it at him, and it landed squarely in his trembling hands.

“Listen closely,” I said, my tone low and commanding. “Take that card to Evil Villa—Jeremy will know what to do. Tell him I sent you. He’ll arrange for your accommodations. You’re staying the night. I expect you back here tomorrow at precisely twelve-thirty. Not a second late.”

The man blinked, fumbling with the card. “But… why?”

I stepped closer, looming over him. “Because you’ve been chosen. You may not see it now, but fate has thrown you into my path, and I do not ignore fate. Now go. And remember: tardiness is a crime I punish severely.”

He gulped and nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”

With that, I turned on my heel, my cape swishing dramatically behind me. I marched toward the exit of the store, but as soon as I was out of earshot, I pulled out my communicator—a sleek black device that looked like a high-tech flip phone. Pressing a button, I called the one person who might have answers.

A gruff but familiar voice answered after a single ring. “What is it, Arthur?”

“Code name M Falcon,” I said, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. “I need intel on anything—related to Dr. Malice.”