Oct 17 2008
The Generic Villain on Minion Morale
The Generic Villain moves into leadership and organizational structure.
The common image of our kind of organization is that of one cackling overlord, a few lieutenants with impressive-looking costumes, various classified employees doing classified things (you know, mad scientists/mages, the odd spy or two, the average five year old child on the advisory board), and a horde of faceless and only vaguely competent minions.
I don’t mind the image; it can come in handy. What I mind is having to adhere to it even behind the curtain. Sure, it’s easy to take your minions for granted. There are usually too many of them to remember individual names, the uniforms make them all look alike, and some people don’t even see their faces. But what would we do without them? And what greater things can we do with them?
For this reason, it is important that our minions see themselves as something more than cannon fodder. To this end, several steps can be taken.
One must for this sort of public relations campaign, if you are an established Hand, is to have an older, more grizzled minion, probably a veteran of a prior evil scheme. Extra credit if this individual is missing an eye, hand or other useful anatomy, and will cheerfully tell the younger sorts a tale of its loss, of rehabilitation and support on the part of your organization, and of how to avoid having the same thing happen to them. This demonstrates to them that they, too, can live to that age, and that we will indeed help them if such a thing happens to them—along with providing useful advice! (Note: while it is possible to get this effect with a random beggar and memory implantation, actually having a minion of this sort is preferable. Less evidence to falsify.)
Name tags or some other individualizing gesture can have a number of uses. One is making them feel that they are considered individuals. Another is expedition of conversations with them: you can refer to them by their names rather than saying “You!” all the time, ensuring both that the right person will be put on the right job, and that you can maintain the “not cogs in a machine” image. Yet another has to do with the heroes; they can mow down nameless, faceless foes right and left, but a name tends to imply a life to them. A purpose. A future. Not something to be brushed aside. Furthermore, aren’t people with names generally more effective than people without, due to resonance with the Laws of Dramatics?
Above all, give them training. Good training, not this Stormtrooper Academy nonsense I keep hearing horror stories about. Again, this serves two purposes. For us, it provides more competent minions, ones that might actually be able to stand up to those irritating protagonists for a change. But for the minions, this is an assurance. Don’t we take better care of the things that we’ve put resources into? Why, then, wouldn’t the same apply to them? Wouldn’t the training imply that they were valuable, a needed resource, and not just cannon fodder? Then, when we need to use them as cannon fodder anyway, either they won’t realize that’s what’s going on, or they’ll realize that the situation is vital enough that volunteering is worth it.
The best part? Then the heroes come knocking, trying to lure them away or thinking that they can just breeze through, and end up facing a team of dedicated, competent, and fiercely loyal subordinates.
Making your job easier. Making the protagonists’ job harder. Preventing defections en masse and ensuring that the minions will deal with their own traitors.
What’s not to like?
Want more Generic Villainy? Look here.
If you can’t think of names, try numbers! It adds to the inherent pathos of the faceless minion.
“They hit my leg, number 27… I can’t see… is it bad?”
“No, it’s… it’s not so bad 43. Don’t look at it! It’s just a flesh wound, but there’s a lot of blood… you need the medical henchmen!”
“No, stay with me 27! I… I feel cold. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Don’t worry 43, we’ll take care of you. Just keep talking… keep talking…”
A little guilt-tripping henchman dialogue may also make Our Heroes think twice before killing all the cafeteria staff at the Black Fortress again.
GV to TheZomb: Excellent, excellent. Have you considered a career in PR? We’ve got an open slot on the advisory committee–Minion-Admin Relations, to be exact–and you show a great deal of promise. The benefits are good, and there’s more job security than you might expect from the reputation–I make a policy of not executing for excusable failure, just insubordination. How about it?
You have a PR office for dealing with your own staff? You must be cruel indeed!
Now, these benefits… is medical / resurrection handled by a reasonable provider? The last evil overlord I worked for, their provider was just awful - brought people back in a grim, lurching semblance of life, and then reviewed their eligibility! I remember there was a question on the review form, “Do you wish for the sleep of the grave to end your undead torment?” I saw, like, five people lose their medical coverage when they answered “yes” to that one. Ended up running a required training program called “Adjusting to Unlife: Filling out your Insurance Forms”. I still have a PowerPoint presentation somewhere…
It’s just as much about dealing with the face the minions present to the rest of the world. You display such talent in that regard…
Yes, we have a good in-house provider. While we don’t have the resources to cover resurrections before six months, all advisers and lieutenants who continue past that time are covered under a return to life plan–there are only two requirements, that we can retrieve the body and that the death was not the result of terminal stupidity. (Needless to say, being executed for rebellion qualifies as “terminal stupidity”.) Unlife is reserved for extreme failure cases. …unfortunately, we cannot completely guarantee sanity, but we will attempt resurrection trauma therapy, and mental health is often a drawback in our business anyway.