Part 1: Trouble in paradise

Warden Welducci had known from the start that the new prisoner was going to be trouble. He should have gone straight into solitary, but the rules said that as long as he behaved, he had to be treated just like all the other criminals. Didn't matter what he did outside - in here, he was just another con, and he got treated just like all the rest. Welducci mostly agreed with that sentiment - but this guy was a super-villain, for Pete's sake! - Yup, gonna be nothing but trouble. Why did they send all the super villains to the Federal Penitentiary of Maryland, anyway? Sooner or later, one of them was going to escape - and that black mark on his record would shoot his pensions all to hell. He hoped his transfer request would be approved soon?

In an observation room high above the prison dining room, protected by windows of bulletproof glass, he watched the cons file in for dinner. He'd posted extra guards with special riot-control weapons tonight. Trouble often started at dinner, when several hundred sullen, angry, mostly violent men were forced into close proximity in a single dingy, smelly room and fed the same old unappetizing prison food. Most of them were already spoiling for a fight, and the new prisoner was sure to generate resentment. The warden gave it 15 minutes, max.

None of the cons could fail to notice the new guy. While most of the prisoners shuffled along, hanging their heads or glaring sullen hatred at all around them, drab in their gray prison coveralls, the new man strode arrogantly into the room, straight and tall, with a haughty regal demeanor that was guaranteed to antagonize even else in the dining hall. The muttering started immediately.

His attire didn't help matters any. While the rest of the prisoners were dressed in ill-fitting threadbare prison uniforms, he was wearing a magnificently-tailored midnight blue tuxedo with tails, so dark it was almost black, a grandiose opera cape of the same color, and a blue-black top hat. Combined with his haughty demeanor, his aura of personal power, his immaculately trimmed black beard, and his frightening all-white eyes, the Wizard was a charismatic and almost awe inspiring figure. And those prisoners around him resented it.

"Hey, screw!" one of them shouted at a guard. "Why's the fop, there?" he pointed at the Wizard "get to dress like a phony stage magician?"

"Shut up and eat, or you won't get nuthin!: the guard responded. He had been wondering the same thing.

"Yeah, like I care if I miss this slop!" the con responded. The Wizard must have overheard, but he ignored that conversation and the muttering of the other cons.

"As if we have a choice!" the Warden snorted. "Every time we put him in a prison uniform, it somehow changes into that same damn costume."

They had even tried forcing him to go nude, but within a couple of hours, he was magically clothed again. But the other cons didn't know that, and he couldn't tell them, didn't dare let them know that this prisoner was defying him. Let them think he was getting special treatment. That way, they would direct their anger at the Wizard, rather than wondering if they, too could get away with defying the Warden..

The Wizard picked a table and sat down with his tray. The Warden winced. The Wizard had unerringly selected the table favored by the half dozen meanest, toughest hard cases among the prisoners. It couldn't be an accident. Was the man _trying_ to start trouble? Probably?

There was a well-defined pecking order among the prisoners, and it was never violated with impunity. When it happened, there was always violent trouble. Rarely did a new bully boy reach the top of the prison food chain, Much more often the challenger ended up in the prison infirmary, crippled for life - or worse. .It was too late for him to intervene. Besides, the Wizard had already started to grate on his nerves. The Warden hoped the other cons would take the Wizard down a notch, though he doubted it.

The Wizard ate alone, as nobody quite dared to join him at his newly-selected table. This set off a chain reaction as the chief bully boys forced others away from their own tables, and those others in turn, displaced still others. The muttering grew louder.

The final straw was probably the Wizard's obvious appreciation of the slop the prisoners were served as food. He relished every bite, as if it were part of the finest repast served at the finest table among the rich and privileged, and he savored the warm, flat tap water as if it were the finest wine. Long ago, he had decided not to waste his time with anything less than the very finest foods, and he had crafted a permanent spell that worked on the food he ate. He saw, and ate, nothing but the finest, regardless of what was served him, as his innate magic transformed it before he consumed it. His appreciation for the food and drink was unfeigned. But the same spell kept the other inmates unaware of the transformation. (The spell also neutralized any poisons or toxins that might have been laced in his food or drink, a useful side effect when one constantly dealt with the criminal element).

"Damn, if you like this slop so much you can have mine" came an angry shout from another table - and a plate of prison food flew through the air. It was virtually impossible to see who had thrown it, but the plate came from the direction of the table of the (former) head bullies. Someone apparently wanted to cause trouble between the old and new rulers of the dining room- and maybe kill two birds with the same stone.

"Crap, that rips it all to to shreds!" the Warden yelled as he reached for the alarm. Clearly, even with all the precautions the prison authorities had taken, the Wizard still retained some of his power. This could be a slaughter.