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Part I - Lights Out
Scott Pilgrim stood nervously in the dimly lit lair of Wallace Wells, notorious supervillain and alleged fashion icon. The lair was surprisingly modern—sleek furniture, black leather couches, and a giant espresso machine that looked like it cost more than Scott’s entire net worth (if he even had one).
The lights flickered as Scott shifted his weight. Then—POP!—everything plunged into darkness.
“Oh my god ,” Wallace groaned. “We talked about this, Scott.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Scott flailed in the dark, knocking over what sounded like a vase.
“Careful! That was imported!”
Wallace’s voice was closer now. A moment later, Scott felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Stop panicking. I’ll fix it.”
A faint green glow lit up the space as Wallace snapped his fingers, summoning a floating orb of light that Scott couldn’t put out. It cast a long, flickering shadow against the walls, giving Wallace the exact sort of menacing silhouette that Scott assumed many supervillains practiced in front of their bathroom mirrors.
“This is why I hired you,” Wallace said, stepping back and inspecting Scott like a contractor eyeing a questionable renovation project. “You can’t control it, which is honestly tragic, but also kind of brilliant. Imagine this: I walk into the mayor’s gala. Bam! Lights out. Chaos. Panic. Meanwhile, I’m striding in, glowing like a god, delivering my ultimatum.”
Scott scratched the back of his head.
“I mean it’s not totally uncontrollable. Sometimes I can make them stay on for, like, a minute if I really concentrate—”
Wallace held up a hand, effectively cutting him off.
“No, no, no. I need chaos, Scott. Drama. You’re not here to fix your curse. You’re here to embrace it.”
“I dunno,” Scott shifted uncomfortably. “I was kinda hoping this job wouldn’t involve…crime?”
“You thought working for me wouldn’t involve crime?”
“I thought maybe, like evil paperwork or something?”
Wallace sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve hired Todd.”
Scott bristled immediately.
“Todd Ingram?! That guy’s a sellout! He works at an Applebee’s now!”
“And yet he can shut off lights without breaking half of my furniture,” Wallace snapped back, flicking his fingers to summon a brighter glow. “Look. You need a job. I need ambience. Win-win!”
Scott glanced around the lair, now partially lit by Wallace’s glowing aura. The walls were lined with futuristic gadgets, framed villain-of-the-year awards, and for some reason, a disco ball. Despite the ominous vibe, it was honestly the nicest place Scott had ever been invited to—and, unlike most places, no one had kicked him out yet for cutting the power.
“Okay,” Scott replied slowly. “I’ll do it. But no hurting innocent people, okay?”
Wallace smirked.
“We’ll see.”
Part II - Lights, Camera, Mayhem
Scott’s first mission went about as well as expected—which was to say, absolutely terribly.
The plan was simple: Wallace would crash an exclusive fashion show where Gideon Graves was showcasing his new line of ‘psychically enhanced couture.’ Scott was supposed to kill the lights and create just enough panic for Wallace to make a scene and monologue about ‘liberating personal expression from corporate greed’ or something.
Instead, Scott tripped over the lighting rig and managed to knock out the entire city block.
“Scott!” Wallace hissed, dragging him behind a curtain as security guards shouted and ran in every direction.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Ugh. This is why I can’t have nice things,” Wallace peered through the curtain, then snapped his fingers, creating an eerie spotlight effect on himself. “Okay, whatever. Improvising. Stay close, don’t talk, and for the love of God, don’t touch anything else.”
Wallace strode out onto the catwalk like he owned the place. Technically, Scott supposed, he kind of did—at least for the moment. Models screamed and toppled off the runway as Wallace’s glowing presence cast terrifying shadows across the venue.
“Citizens of Toronto!” Wallace announced, his voice booming unnaturally. “Your obsession with trends has blinded you to the true artistry of—”
“Who turned off the lights?!” someone shouted.
Wallace’s eye twitched. “I did!”
“Actually, it was me,” Scott mumbled from behind the curtain.
“What did I say about talking?!”
“Sorry!”
The guards were regrouping. Wallace saw them and snapped his fingers again, intensifying the glow. It was enough to distract them, but Scott knew they wouldn’t stop for long.
“Uh, Wallace?”
“What now?”
Scott pointed at the disco ball, which had fallen from the ceiling during the blackout and was now rolling ominously toward the catwalk.
“Okay, time to go.”
Scott turned—and immediately crashed into a glass prop, knocking it over and shattering it.
“SCOTT!”
“I SAID SORRY!”
Back in the lair, Wallace slumped dramatically into his villainous chair, clutching a martini glass like it was his only source of strength.
“Disaster,” he muttered. “Utter disaster.”
Scott flopped into a nearby bean bag chair.
“I mean…no one caught us?”
“Oh, sure. This time. But what about next time? What if I need to destroy—I don’t know, City Hall or something? How can I focus on dominating society when I have to babysit you?”
Scott frowned. “You said you hired me for chaos.”
“Yes! Controlled chaos! Not… you chaos!”
“Well,” Scott stood up. “Maybe if you’d actually trained me instead of just yelling—”
Wallace shot him a sharp look, but Scott didn’t back down.
“Face it. You can’t do this without me.”
Wallace's eyes narrowed. Then, after a moment, a smirk painted across his face.
“You know what?” he said, swirling his drink. “You’re right. You are chaos. And maybe…that’s exactly what I need.”
That took the wind out of Scott’s sails.
“Wait, really?”
“Don’t get excited,” Wallace stood and snapped his fingers, plunging the lair into total darkness. Scott couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. “We have work to do.”