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Novice's Guide to Villains and Villainy - Week 9, Period 3

"My apologies for not coming to class last week. I had a feeling none of you would have appreciated me sharing a particularly nasty virus. I am glad to see that you're all alive and well after the rain nonsense and Seely and Z running last week's class.

Let's move on. Most of you will know this week's villain if only by reputation alone. There is debate as to whether the case files of Sherlock Holmes are fact or fiction and whether Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote them or if they were, in fact, passed on to Conan Doyle by Doctor John Watson, the narrator of the stories. To avoid any charges of defamation, let's assume they're fictional.

In Holmesian fashion, this week you will have to solve the mystery, track down your opponent before you can defeat them. Keep in mind that this week's topic is the evil genius and that in the evil genius you will often meet your match. Don't fall into their trap without a plan."

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"The great detective. We meet at last," a well-dressed man with an upper class British accent said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor James Moriarty at your service. I must admit that you kept me wondering if you were going to follow my little trail. There were moments when I thought the jig was up, so to speak. But now you are here and, while the gentleman in me wishes to offer you tea and crumpets, I'm afraid our all too brief meeting must come to an end.

You see, detective, we were destined to meet. Now, as I complete the final stages of my plan, I'm afraid that you are destined to die."

Considering how narrative was supposed to unfold and what Moriarty would undoubtedly do to ~~the Enterprise~~ London and you, it was probably best to stop him.

"May I at least shake the hand of so great a criminal master mind before we lock our proverbial horns at last?" she asked offering her hand.

"Your attempt to get close enough to me to ensure my demise is as plain as the eye can see. But I am a gentleman and I shall not deny you that courtesy, dear lady." He held up what had to be the only grenade in Victorian London. "But I must warn you, should you attempt to harm me in any way, we will both surely be in peril."

"And why would that be?" She said stepping forward to take his hand.

"I will drop this device. The impact will cause the chemicals within to combine and combust, causing an explosion that could very well take out this entire building."

"That sounds like a very bad end to an interesting day..." she said taking his hand. "And what stops me from simply letting you destroy this secluded warehouse on a deserted dock and taking you out with me?"

"Self-preservation," Moriarty replied with a small smile. "The most basic human response is fight or flight. Even the simplest of creatures feels the compulsion to ensure its continued existence."

"You know what? You're right. Which is why I don't believe that thing in your hand will explode if you drop it." she said, and she yanked firmly and carefully on his arm to force him onto the ground. (Hopefully without hurting him.)

But she reached with her other hand for the thing he said was 'splody, just in case.

Moriarty hadn't suspected such strength from a girl of Pippi's size. He might have been chemically imbalanced, but he wasn't suicidal. The grenade didn't ignite because he hadn't pulled the makeshift pin.

When he recovered from the surprise of being pulled down, he called to his faithful henchman and reached for the handkerchief in his top pocket. He hastily placed it over his mouth in time for the building to shudder and visible, smokey gas to start pouring into the room.

Thankfully, Pippi's training as a pearl diver on Kurrakurradutt comes in handy for more then retrieving pearls and trunks of treasure from underwater caves.

Holding her breath and pinching her nose, she ran after the villain.

"At least tell me one thing, Professor," said Hamlet, furiously plotting out a way to stop the mad doctor from blowing up the city. "Why did you do it?"

"Were you any other man, short of Holmes, I might withhold that information from you, but I have an inkling that you might understand my dilemma. Mankind is a fascinating beast. So set in its ways. People are born, schooled, sent to work, sent to procreate and then die. London itself is a microcosm of conventional society, yet nothing ever changes, not even with the advent of technology or the discovery of new colonies. We are capable of so much more and yet we are bound by the social ties that we are born into. We are only capable of our true potential when the social ties are broken. Mankind can be reborn, sir, and I shall see to it."

Oh, Hamlet's had a whole lot of social ties broken within his family and friends back in Elsinore. It didn't work out so well for anyone. And if regicide messed up things that much, a man willing to destroy much of London would make things worse.

"But are you certain that they can be reborn? Humanity may have the possibility of change somewhere withing itself, but the patterns of everyday life have been ones that have been established for thousands of years. In my first hand experience, a sudden and unexpected breaking of traditional social ties tends to lead to sudden chaos and destruction more than anything."

"And from the ashes, the strongest and most resilient will rise, ready to build anew."

Well, clearly talking down an evil genius wasn't going to work. He half mused to himself about what sort of thing would motive a man of Moriarty's obvious intelligence to use it coming up with schemes to destroy society.

There was a noise outside as a pair carriages filled with Lestrade's police officers rolled on to the scene. One corner of his mouth turned upward into a smirk. At least the biding-time tactic had worked.

Moriarty tensed, but still had a smile plastered on his face. "Sir, I have enjoyed our little chat, but I fear that our time together has come to an end. I bid you adieu. Perhaps we will meet again in another world."

"I have just one question for you, Professor," Peter said. "Alosersayswhat?"

"I beg your pardon?" Unfortunately for Peter, Moriarty's vocabulary didn't mix well with that joke, hilarious as it was.

"Wow. You're no fun. 'Alosersaysibegyourpardon' lacks a little something, you know?" Peter asked. "Oh well. So, do you have a wacky death machine that I have to disable or can I just start punching you?"

"Punch if you wish, but you will not stop me, sir. My cause is just and God is with me. I shall not falter. In the end, it is you who will fall."

"Wow. You're a nutty nut, aren't you? Straight from Nuttown, come down by way of Nut Road," Peter said. "But since you said so..."

Peter launched himself forward, throwing a restrainted punch at Moriarty as he flipped over the villain.

Moriarty wasn't the most physical of villains and he staggered and fell at the punch. "Now!" he yelled to his fairly trusted henchman. The building shuddered and a thick, smokey gas started to pour into the room. Moriarty hastily reached for his handkerchief and put it to his face as he stumbled to his feet and made a run for it.

"That's cute, Nutty Morrie." With one good leap, Peter was within reach of Moriarty. And reach he did, attempting to grab Moriarty as he landed.

Moriarty may have been one of the greatest fictional villains of the Victorian Era and a match only to Holmes, but he'd never had to face Spider-Man before. He didn't stand a chance and was promptly collared. However, Moriarty had another plan up his sleeve. Literally. He let the only grenade in Victorian London slip out of his sleeve and held it in his hand, trying to speak through his handkerchief. "Let me go or I'll kill us both."

Holding Moriarty tightly in one arm, Peter clamped down on Moriarty's grenade hand with his free hand. He then leaped up towards the high window he entered, kicking his shoes off so he could stick to the wall high above the gas.

"Trust me, it's not happening."

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