I'm No Villain

I'm wearing pajamas. And not the fun kind with the butt flap. These are standard-issue prisoner pajamas that all the villains we lock up wear while being contained by The Company. Why am I in them? I'm not a villain. Sure, I'm villainous. People usually mistake me for a bad guy. I think it's because of the glasses. But I'm hardly worthy of villain pajamas.

In truth, good and evil can be complicated. That's why I never take sides. I mean, just look at my current predicament. I'm protecting my daughter, which is good, but I am working for a secret organization that bags and tags people, which is bad. But I also sell paper, which is good, but it's not necessarily recycled, which is bad. So what happens when an evil (bad) paper (good) company (bad) imprisons (bad) me (good/bad)?

It all gets rather confusing, and Mohinder isn't here to narrate.

"Actually, Bennet, I am currently in existence in this very same room as you," he annoyingly interrupted.

"Mohinder? What are you doing here?" I asked.

"It is my obligation to inform you that Mr. Bishop requests your company."

I was glad. Anything to get away from his incessant rambling.

I barged into Bishop's office yelling, "Now, look, I agreed to come back to work for you guys, but the current pension plan is not worth putting up with Mr. Philosophical Chatterbox in there." I pointed back with my thumb.

"You won't have to worry about Mr. Suresh anymore, Noah," Bob replied. He stood and approached me.

"Good," I said.

"You see, Noah," Bob said as he reached into his coat jacket. "We have a problem with our current arrangement, Noah." He pulled out a gun, which oddly was not gold, and aimed it right at me.


"What are you doing?" I was shocked. "You shouldn't be shooting anyone. You're a desk guy! Look, you don't even have hair." I pointed to his shiny, never-ending forehead.

"My condition is of no concern, Noah. It's come to our attention," he explained, "that you have been appearing on several reality shows, and continue to, Noah." With the gun fixed on me with one hand, he pulled out a remote control with the other. His thumb pressed a button causing the TV to turn on.

There I was, on the television, racing through the first leg of The Amazing Mutant Race.

"Hey, it's me!" I said, taking a seat in front of the TV. "I was wondering when it would finally air. I'd tell you how I did, but there's a lot of confidentiality agreements, you know how it is." I watched excitedly as I relived the Vision Quest detour in my head. "Do you have any popcorn? This would be good with popcorn."

"Shut up, Noah," Bob rudely replied.

"Oh, sorry. Here, I'll turn up the volume." As I reached for the controls, Bob blasted the TV screen with his Primatech handgun.

"We're not watching your little reality show, Noah. All this publicity is becoming a problem, Noah. We're a secret organization after all. Remember, Noah?"

Suddenly, I realized what was going on. The Company wanted to bag and tag me. And well, morally-speaking, that's where I draw the line.

"Hey, look! A seagull!" I pointed out behind Bob. As he turned, I jumped from my chair and ran out of his office, grabbing a banana from his fruit bowl on the way out.

I quickly made my way to the Company's tech department. Bob was no doubt close behind me. I didn't have a lot of time, so I quickly found Allan Arkush, Primatech's gadget expert. "Allan, I forgot where I left The Haitian, so I need something that can erase memories. Pronto!"

"Pronto?" he asked. It was clear he was high, as usual.

"It means quickly."

"Oh. I guess you should have just said that then. It would have been prontoer," he laughed.

I shook him.

He wept.

I stared.

He grabbed a slushi.

Bob entered.

I pushed Allan and the slushi outside.

"Allan, I need your help right now!" I yelled at him.

He handed me some sunglasses and said, "Put these on. That slushi is a flashy thing. Use it and--"


I don't know what I did, but as I was examining the pseudo-slushi it suddenly flashed a bright light.

"Does that mean it's on?" I asked. "How do I use it?"

Allan just stood there staring off into space.

Just then, Bob came outside. I didn't have time to figure out this fancy slushi gadget, so I dropped it and ran.

"Do you know where he's going, Allan?" Bob asked the bamboozled technician as I fled. "You're high again, aren't you, Allan?" Bob ran after me.

He didn't make it too far. After he had stopped, I called back to him and explained how he's just a desk guy. "After you lose that much hair, you just can't expect to run very far," I said. But before I could continue my fleeing, I was knocked unconscious by an unknown person.

I awoke to find one of my worst fears once again realized.



"Pee Wee!" I yelled. "Haven't I killed you? Several times?"

"Mayhaps!" he responded cheerfully as he turned to face me. "Now, let's get you into the proper prison attire."

"NoOOocoOoOOoOOO!" I screamed in horror.

Unfortunately, as Pee Wee was redressing me, I accidentally said "careful," as in "be careful down there," which turned out to be the secret word. Even with all my paper sales training, I found it difficult to make it through that situation alive.

At this point, it's anyone's guess what they plan to do with me. Maybe I can promise to re-assassinate a politician or something in exchange for my freedom. Or at least something other than these prisoner pajamas.