My, my, little angel-food cake, that IS a busy night.
But the answer is obvious. I would slay the friend of an enemy. I have little interest in revolution and the murder of millions, because frankly, your human politics bore me. And for downing a plane filled with relief workers, well, quite honestly, I’d rather see them get to their destination and lose their hope in humanity. I suppose those situations are nice if you are interested in quantity. But I’m not really interested in quantity. All things die if you wait long enough. No, darling, I’m here for the quality of the kill.
When I kill someone (and I don’t mean the people who wander on to my island and fall in my traps, I mean real, intentional murder) I want it to mean something. I want to remember that silver moment, to hold it fresh in my mind for as long as I can. I want it to be hard. I want it to be fun. I want it to be painful and difficult. I want it to have consequences. If I’m going to kill someone, I’d like to see their face as they die. I want to hold them and feel the death rattle in my hands.
Heroes pretend to get mad when you set off a bomb, sure, but it’s really only self-righteousness. They’ll go after a villain that’s downed a plane of relief workers, but only to bring that villain back to the authorities, “for justice”.
It’s only when you murder their brother in cold blood that they really come for you, squeezing their hands into fists, thinking about crushing your ribs, thinking of murder. It’s only when you poison their boyfriend that they forget about the justice and the petty laws they wrap themselves in. I want my Heroes to feel, to know pain like they know their own breath. I need to see them, naked and raw and undeniably real. I need to know who they are, who they really are, beyond the platitudes.
I don’t need giant explosions or bloody revolutions. I want to make things personal.