“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” said the tour guide with a sad smile. “I guess it’s the superpower we all possess. But back then, somebody must have thought it was a good idea – and by good, I mean profitable, of course. We’re moving through to the highest security sector where the worst ones were incarcerated. No photography, please, and I would request that we observe a moment of silence for those who perished when it all went pear-shaped.”
The group of tourists nodded solemnly. A teenager at the back wondered why they were all so po-faced all of a sudden, but it didn’t occur to him to switch off his mp3 player long enough to find out. He traipsed behind the group, wanting it all to be over. Stupid educational trip! What the hell kind of theme park was this anyway? Whose bright idea had it been to lock up all the world’s supervillains on a single island? That was just asking for trouble. And whose brighter idea had it been to turn the prison into a tourist attraction? Come and gawk at the baddest of the bad guys! Like it’s some kind of zoo.
The group passed under an archway. Steel doors, three feet thick, clanged shut behind them. The metal was scarred with burns and pockmarks from the uprising, which, looking back, must have been inevitable.
Brainio, the super-genius, was thought to have been the instigator, communicating with the others with his telepathic abilities. His super-sized cranium had made his head an easy target for the treacherous Blast-o-path, who shot him down with a plasma dart as soon as they tasted fresh air.
“Had they formed a united front, they would have gotten off the island,” the tour guide droned on, her voice a bored sing-song, “And they would all be at large right now. But, being selfish megalomaniacs to a man, they each wanted to be the only one to escape, the only one to survive. I guess you can’t get along with your plans for world domination if you have serious competition all after the same planet.”
The guide pointed out each cell as they passed. Here was Ice-Monster’s, where the temperature had been lowered until the walls shattered like glass. Here was The Atomiser’s – he had snuck out, oozing between the molecules of the building. And so on, and so on.
They arrived at an obelisk on which had been carved the names of the dead – the unfortunate tourists who happened to be gawking at the inmates at the time of the outbreak.
The teenager at the back saw everyone’s head bow in respect. He unhooked his earbuds and did likewise. The guide surveyed the group with satisfaction. This bit always got to them, without fail.
While everyone was distracted, contemplating the horror and the loss that had taken place on that very spot, the tour guide rose in the air until she was high above the group. She emitted a head-splitting, skull-shattering scream until they all crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Then she swooped down and helped herself to their wallets and pocket books. Oh, look, an mp3 player. Neat!
She tugged the device from the young man’s grasp and slipped it into her pocket.
World domination was never the aim for Ban-Shee. Having survived the super-carnage by deflecting everything that was thrown at her with sonic waves, she was happy to lead a double life, supplementing her meagre wages as a tour guide with the pickings from the ghoulish assholes who visited the island in their droves.
Serves them right, she shrugged. People died here. This is not a place of entertainment.
She set to cleaning up. The group would come to, in their boat in the middle of the bay, and not remember a thing about where they had been or what the hell they were doing.
After that, there’d be just enough time to retouch her make-up; there was another party booked in for two o’clock.