Every television, computer, and other screen in the world suddenly clicks on displaying crackling static. Confusion ripples across the world for several seconds, until the static suddenly vanishes to display an empty chair in front of a concrete wall.
Is it on? Well you’re the genetically enhanced rabbit with Wi-Fi in its brain, aren’t you supposed to know? What? It is? Fuck!
Static returns briefly. When it clears again the world can see Baron Baddington now seated in the chair, a slightly frantic expression in his eyes as he whispers inaudibly off camera. In the days to follow, government agencies will enhance and filter this whispering until they’re able to make out his words. They were “How’s my light?” as it turns out.
Good morning world! For my non-English speakers out there, this broadcast is presented in brand-new Translate-O-Vision, patent pending, which should put my words into a language you can understand. As some of you may have heard, I recently escaped from the paltry prison you all held me in. My time there was not pleasant, and now that I’m out I felt it only fair to reshape the world more to my liking, since I had to spend months in discomfort. To that end, I have constructed a machine that will produce endless clouds to block out sunshine. They’ll still let enough rays through to nurture plants and the like, I’m not trying to starve myself or anyone else here, but until my demands are met none of you will feel the warmth of the sun on your face, every beach day will be clouded over, summer will be hot yet somehow feel as depressing as fall… basically it will be like you’re all stuck living in Seattle. Now don’t fret, because I am a reasonable mastermind. I have a small list of demands I want met, and once they are you can have your precious sunshine back.
From the side of the camera, a small paw covered in white fur can be seen, lifting a stack of pages into Baron Baddington’s reach. He snatches them up, giving a brief nod to the paw, which slips away from sight.
Let’s get the money out of the way first. It’s gauche and trite, I know, but endless cloud machines don’t pay for themselves. I’m going to need a cool ten billion from the nations of the world to get back my investment and some spending money. Oh, and only the nations with the top ten highest GDPs are allowed to be part of the payment. I don’t want any of you “world-powers” screwing over a third-world country, again, by making them foot a part of the bill. Only the cash cows are taking care of this one. Have the money ready to go by tomorrow morning.
Next up, I want every country, and this applies to all of you, to start funding some endowments to the arts. Let’s say five percent of your GDP, or two percent if you take all of it from defense. I don’t need you shoring up your weapons against me anyway, and to be frank the number of operas and symphonies across the globe has been falling at a depressing rate in the last few years. I may be a villain, but depriving the world of such culture would be truly criminal.
After that… ah yes, no more pay toilets. Anywhere. After having to suffer the indignity of pooping in a public cell, I feel a kinship to those struck down by circumstances seeking only a private space to do their necessary. I will not stand by and allow others to suffer through such a degrading experience. Anyone with a pay toilet after sunset tonight will be targeted and punished by my squads of robot soldiers. And I made them on the cheap, so they are not equipped to do anything delicately.
My next demand is that every country farm and ship carrots to me, with the amount due proportionate… to… wait a minute, I didn’t write this.
Baron Baddington turns off camera to glare at someone unseen. He begins a frantic whisper fight, too low and polluted with another sound source for government agencies to clean up. After several seconds of fighting, he turns back to the camera and offers a weary smile to the billions watching him live.
Right, where was I? Ah yes, carrots… apparently. Fine, every country owes me one ton of carrots per year, either grown on their own or bought from a neighbor. Anyone who tried to use this to demand to economically gouge another nation of carrot sales gets a visit from the robot soldiers. And one ton of carrots per country is plenty, more than a single rabbit could or should eat in a year.
Another brief glance off camera, although this time there is no audible response.
Anyway, my next demand is all education in all nations becomes immediately free. That might sound strange, coming from a madman holding the world hostage, but let’s put our cards on the table folks. I’m not getting any younger, and as I age I’ve started to look ahead, to the next generation of evil geniuses. How will they rise up to take my place if we don’t properly nurture and refine their intellects? This demand is my investment in the future of villainy. Plus I’ve got a niece heading to college soon and knocking this out will get my sister off my ass, so it’s win-win as far as I’m concerned.
That leads us to the first of my big demands, because all that piddling stuff was just the warm-up. Superheroes must be deemed as illegal entities, and all superheroic activities must cease at once. From now on, the act of fighting villainy shall be criminal in itself! That should throw those goody-two-shoes on their ass with the moral dilemma of it all. Not to mention, I can-
The screen fills with red light as a flashing bulb over Baron Baddington’s head begins to flash just as a high-pitched siren can be heard over the television. He turns off-screen, presumably looking at some sort of display.
Wow, looks like we’ve got some incoming superheroes. A lot of them, actually. Guess I might have pushed my luck with that last one, huh? Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying. Looks like I’ll have to do a strategic retreat for now, I am in no mood to go back to prison. Luckily, an old pro like me knows to never start one of these proclamations without an escape plan. Until next time, this is Baron Baddington Esquire signing off and reminding you all to stay terrified.
Leaping up from his chair, Baron Baddington hurtles past the camera, knocking it slightly askew as he does. Now facing a blank wall illuminated by a flashing red light, the camera faintly picks up Baron Baddington yelling from off-screen.
Hurry, Commander Whiskers, to the multiverse! Let’s go to that world where hangovers don’t exist. I need a drink after a day like this.