Ke!th – No villains here, just people hurting

Deadshot #1

 

I recently bought myself a couple of DC comic books, specifically focusing on an assortment of villains we have come to know and hate – and some I met for the first time. Generally villains’ ideals, or rather the process by which they attain their ideals, is not what we would consider “good” or “of good morals” however sometimes villains are villains because someone somewhere turned them into one. Would Edward Enigma be the Riddler if not for Batman’s intellect and ability to solve every riddle? Would the Joker not tire of his antics if not for the Batman continuously foiling his plans? Would Carnage and Venom exist in the form they do had Spiderman not existed? Would Magneto have become Magneto if not for the evil that caused him to turn?

The comics I purchased look at the history of Killer Frost, the ice cold femme fatale who becomes the heat-seeking, vengeful ice queen, the iconic anti-hero, Deadshot, and his rise (or fall) into paid villainy, protector and champion of the people with an anger to boot Black Adam, and the overly-paranoid spy who wears a symbiotic membrane like skin Shadow Thief (DC’s version of Venom?).

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Ke!th: Rise of a Villain #1

The last thing he remembered seeing, was the laughable piece of wood the man had swung toward his face. It should have been an easy maneuver to dodge the plank and counter, leave the man bleeding on the floor but his hands were full and his mind was focused on the score; an imprint of an exclamation mark etched into the wood and now etched into his mind; the moment he lost it all.

 

It was already a low point for Alan Hill, another day picking pockets, swindling kids on the train and mugging ladies in alleys. Frankenstein hated late payments and Alan was already late and now he had nothing to show but a rectangular bruise across his left eye. He looked down at the chess pieces before him and blinked liquid out of his swollen eye,

“Can’t see a damn thing,” he uttered in frustration, wiping the running tear off his cheek

“All I hear is excuses Al.” replied his opponent, a young man dressed in jeans and a plain black rounded t-shirt hidden below a white coat. They sat opposite one another on hard wooden stools with no backrest. The furnishing they were utilizing as a table was a make-shift wooden object that was neither table nor box.

“Do you see this swollen eye on my face?”

“Can you?”