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 teeth clenched and his fists ready for a fight. His eyes tell the story of a man who has lost everything. The villain stands clad in all black, staring off into the distance, beyond the city, as if searching for a memory. His thoughts are broken by a sharp, harsh voice.
Protagonist: Why are you doing this? So much chaos- all those people! Those poor people! What is wrong with you?
The villain brings his attention to 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. 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.
Protagonist: You… think you’re a character on a page? What, like in a comic book?
The villain continues to stare into the hero’s eyes with nonchalant disinterest.
Antagonist: Exactly, that’s right. You too. In fact, we all are: Every character ever written.
The villain stares into the hero’s eyes without judgment or concern. A few silent moments pass, until slowly a sneer of contempt spreads across the hero’s face.
The hero laughs.
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? Did I really waste no time, or was there no time passing at all? What 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.
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. It could even be text-to-speech synthesis reading it aloud for all I know. Only the reader has substance though; you and me… we’re just an illusion in their imagination.
The hero sharpens his gaze: irate, disgruntled, ready for a fight. He speaks with the tone of a frustrated retail manager.
Protagonist: Look. I don’t care about your bullshit. I’m not going to let you kill any more people, you maniac. 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 to cinders so 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. 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 in disappointment, slowly shaking his head. When he looks up, he speaks with 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, but you’ll still pay for your crimes! This ends NOW!
The villain closes his eyes, tilts his head to the sky, and opens his arms in acceptance. As the hero moves towards him with fury and rage, blade raised to strike, a hopeful whisper escapes his lips.
Antagonist: Yes… yes it does.