On a rooftop, far above the streets, two costumed men face off against the backdrop of a city. Sirens wail in the distance as people scream and explosions echo. The hero stands tall, a white cape flapping behind him, his mouth bloodied and his fists ready for a fight. His eyes tell the story of a man who has lost everything. The villain, encased in a black mechanical biosuit, stares off into the distance, his dark cape still and unbothered by the wind. His eyes look beyond the city, as if searching for a distant memory. His thoughts are broken by the hero’s exasperated voice.
Protagonist: Why are you doing this? So much chaos- all those people! Those poor people! What is wrong with you?
The villain’s eyes come to rest on the hero. He speaks softly with the grace of a saint and the patience of a thousand years.
Antagonist: I’m not doing this. I’m not even real, and neither are you. We’re just words on a page.
The hero looks confused, momentarily thrown off guard by the strange sentence. He wipes the blood from his mouth as the villain continues to monologue.
Antagonist: You believe you’re real because that’s how the story goes, but I know the truth: You are just the author playing tricks, and so am I.
The hero grits his teeth and flares his nostrils. His tone changes to one of dry derision.
Protagonist: You… think you’re a character on a page? What, like a comic book? Is that what you tell yourself to justify your crimes?
The villain continues to stare into the hero’s eyes with nonchalant disinterest.
Antagonist: Exactly, that’s right, and you too. In fact, we all are: Every character ever written.
The villain stares into the hero’s eyes without judgement or concern. A few silent moments pass, until slowly a sneer of contempt spreads across the hero’s face. The hero closes his eyes and laughs with derision for a few moments before flashing a grin of pity.
Protagonist: They said you were crazy, but this is… next level. You’re real, buddy, and so am I.
The villain wastes no time considering his position.
Antagonist: Are we though? Or do the words say that? Moreover, did I really waste no time, or was there no time passing at all? What even is time for beings such as us? The reader could wait ten years between each line, and we would never know.
The hero furrows his brow and squints in confusion.
Protagonist: What?
The villain takes a deep breath in and out before speaking slowly and clearly.
Antagonist: Right now, someone is reading this page, taking in the words, and building a scene in their mind. They’re giving you substance, appearance, and perhaps even a voice from their own past. They could even be using text-to-speech synthesis to read it aloud, for all I know. Only the reader has substance though; you and me… we’re just an illusion in their imagination.
Protagonist: Look. I don’t care about your bullshit. I’m not going to let you kill any more people, ok? It’s wrong. Why can’t you see that?
The villain rolls his eyes.
Antagonist: There aren’t any people, and I’m not a villain. I wasn’t even here until a few moments ago. I just want this to end- I want out- I want the page to finish, and for the reader to forget about me. I want this story to be deleted or burned, so that no one can ever read it again. I want an exit from this inane conversation and this ridiculous outfit! This is not life, this is prison.
The final word strikes a chord in the hero, and a look of amused disgust spreads across his face.
Protagonist: Oh, you’re right about prison, buddy. Hell, after all the lives you’ve destroyed- my god, you’ll be lucky to avoid the chair. Ten thousand volts might give you a new take on reality.
The villain drops his gaze, takes a deep breath, and slowly shakes his head in disappointment. When he looks up, he speaks with sombre conviction.
Antagonist: There were no lives. No one died. No one was even born. In some ways, you killed them by bringing them into this just now, and until you did that, it was just us… although, you’re hardly to blame, it’s the author pulling the strings. Who am I even talking to? This is pointless.
The hero pulls out a blade. It glimmers in the sun and he readies himself to attack.
Protagonist: You’re right, this is pointless, and I’m done talking! Blabber on all you want about comic books and stories, but you’ll still pay for your crimes! This ends NOW!
As the hero moves towards the villain with fury and rage, blade raised to strike, the villain closes his eyes, tilts his head to the sky, and opens his arms in acceptance. A hopeful whisper escapes his lips.
Antagonist: Yes… yes it does.
As the story comes to a halt, the world fades away into nothingness, and both the hero and the villain cease to be. The hero would be disappointed, if they could understand, for in the end, the villain received what all great villains desire: The dissolution of everything.