Even evil has an application process.
Alas, I’ll never find a worthy apprentice to my craft. I, Lucifin the Cunning, am doomed to waste away as a villainous footnote, with none to share my evil genius. I may as well throw myself from a ledge right now. I’ve interviewed all sorts, from your stereotypical dubious mastermind to the malcontented anarchist. None of them could match my skullduggery, my perfidiousness. None are worthy of my devious mantle. Thankfully, the trapdoor on the other side of this desk eases the awkwardness of a rejection.
“Mr. Lucifin, you’re two o’clock is here.”
Sigh. “Send him in Marcy.” Another face, another failure. Each time I hope it’ll be different. Each time, I’m that much more disappointed. Ah, here he is. Well, at least he has the look. The lab coat and goggles are a nice touch. “You must be Dr. Sinister. Have a seat and tell me about yourself.” I do hope he keeps it brief.
“Well, there’s not much to say, really.” Thank badness. “I was born in Romania and learned my evil ways in an orphanage by nightly torturing my fellows. At fifteen, I moved to Lithuania and apprenticed under Lars Goetic, working a scheme to burrow under Fort Knox.”
“Ha! I remember that one! Shame about the machine guns.” Okay, so maybe he does have promise.
“Lately, I’ve been freelance. You know, steal the Eiffel Tower, that sort of thing? Sadly, reliable underlings are more and more scarce. It seems good minions are hard to find these days.”
“Don’t I know it!”
“So, I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s why I’m perfect for your open position. I’ve already disarmed your trapdoor, secretly chained you to your chair, and this freeze-ray should be more than convincing.”
Impressive! “Ooh…I like you! When can you start?”