Great minds think alike. Greater minds get off their duffs and do the work. Hyperion is not the greater mind.

— A snippet from the upcoming International Criminal Conspiracy —

“I think writing original fiction instead of heavily modified biographies is a good idea,” Kaylee offered. “How about writing about a guy who’s always dreamed of being a supervillain? Then one day his maternal grandmother leaves him a volcano lair in her will.”

“Hmm,” Hyperion mused, giving it serious consideration. “I like the premise. And when he gets there he finds out there’s already a whole organization in place waiting for him to take over. And the organization is run by a council of cats, the head of which is a Maine coon, of course. Oh! And the British shorthair chair has been vacant for over five years, but nobody will talk about it.”

Kaylee nodded. “Maybe you could set it on an island in the Caribbean with guard dolphins?”

Hyperion flicked his whiskers. “I don’t know about that. The Caribbean has been overdone. And nobody likes smart-ass fish. What about in the Andes with ninja alpacas for security? Nobody would see that coming.”

Kaylee shrugged. “I’m partial to tropical beaches, but it’s your story.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Hyperion assured her. “But I think I’ll put it on the back burner for now. I still have a couple of other ideas, including a Godzilla derivation. But I need to get Chris and Emily’s story finished first. I’m thinking of calling it Avenue of Assassination.”

Kaylee smiled with just a touch of a wince. “Yeah, I think the name needs some more work. But don’t wait too long to get started or some other author will steal your thunder.”

Hyperion snorted. “Someone’s going to write a book about a newbie villain? Really? I think I’m safe on that one.”