“Please…” Hero wheezed, clawing their fingernails desperately into the dirt, trying to pull themselves forward, closer to Villain who was so heart wrenchingly close if Hero could just reach them. “Please d-don’t…”
Villain tilted their head at the exhausted Hero with more pity than sympathy, and a little bit of awe at how even when beaten, even when eating dirt, Hero still didn’t know when to quit. Maybe they were born without a survival instinct.
“I told you before Hero,” Villain said.
Hero’s grip in the dirt turned their knuckles white and they cried out a strangled scream of frustration and helplessness as they pulled their limp body towards Villain.
“You can’t save everyone, everywhere, at all times and expect to get away with it.”
“Yes…” Hero panted, dragging themselves an inch closer. “I can. As long as I draw breath, I can save the world.”
“Sweetheart,” Villain cooed, clicking their tongue against the roof of their mouth. “You can’t even save yourself.”
Hero heard, more than saw, Villain push the button on their remote and froze. It was as if the Earth took a sharp inhale of breath — the world turned slower, nature grew quiet, all Hero could hear was the ringing in their ears and the thundering pounding of their heart in their throat — the ground rumbled beneath Hero and they had just enough strength to push their head up to watch as everything they knew turned to ash.
The fire burned hot, as if Hero was in it instead of beside it, looking down at it, and no matter how much they wanted to Hero couldn’t tear their eyes away from the flames or the screams or the smoke or the sirens or the death and destruction they could have prevented if they had just been stronger.
Hero flinched as a hand settled on the nape of their neck, rubbing soothing circles over the skin. “It was a valiant effort Hero, I want you to know that. There is nothing you could have done. Although you did come the closest to beating me. I had to even the playing field a bit, what with your borderline obsessive tenacity.”
Villain’s words sent a shiver up Hero’s spine. “Don’t worry, this is only the beginning. I told you we would change the world, didn’t I?”
They did. That was the first thing Villain ever told Hero. At the time it sounded so attractive, so endearing. It was so easy for Villain to convince Hero to follow Villain after that because they wanted the same things.
Hero just didn’t imagine that in order for the world to change, so many needed to die.
“Come on now, let me get you back to bed. We can start rebuilding tomorrow. That’s when the real work begins.”
The midday sun blazed down, casting harsh shadows across the city streets. Hero leaned against the rusted railing of a fire escape, one hand shielding her eyes from the glare. The other clutched a lukewarm coffee cup she’d picked up from her favorite corner shop—a small comfort in an otherwise grueling day.
Beneath her, the city buzzed with life. Families milled about in the park, office workers sat on benches scrolling through their phones, and the occasional street performer tried their luck at gathering a crowd. Hero should’ve been patrolling, but for once, she’d let herself pause. Just five minutes of peace.
Or so she’d thought.
A sharp, discordant noise erupted from the park, cutting through the usual hum of the city like a jagged knife. Hero winced, the sound grating against her ears and sending her coffee tumbling to the pavement below.
“Fantastic,” she muttered, watching the brown liquid pool on the concrete. Civilians were already fleeing, hands clasped over their ears.
Grimacing, she leaped down from the fire escape and wove through the panicked crowd, heading toward the source of the commotion. She didn’t need to guess who was behind it.
The park was in chaos. Families abandoned picnic blankets, the cries of the children who had been playing on the park nearby as their mothers rushed them away. In the middle of it all sat Villain, perched on a park bench as if he were enjoying a private symphony. At his feet, a device emitted the horrible noise, its blinking lights and exposed wires pulsating erratically.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite person,” Villain greeted, his tone dripping with mock cheer. “Did you come to enjoy the concert?”
Hero crossed her arms, trying to keep her tone steady. “It’s midday. Don’t you have better things to do?”
Villain smirked, leaning back and gesturing lazily toward the civilians still fleeing. “Better than bringing a little… excitement to their lunch break? Hardly.”
Her gaze flicked to the device, noting the civilians still trapped nearby, wincing with each jarring note. Destroying it outright wasn’t an option—it was too close to them. But as the noise escalated, Hero knew she couldn’t wait much longer.
“You’re exhausting,” she muttered, crouching slightly as energy began to spark faintly at her fingertips.
Villain sat up straighter, watching her with interest. “Careful, now. Wouldn’t want to fry the poor innocent people, would you?”
She ignored him, focusing instead on aiming a small, controlled burst of energy. The crackling arc hit its mark, short-circuiting the device. The noise died instantly, leaving an eerie and empty silence in its wake.
The relief was short-lived. Sparks flew as the device exploded in a fiery burst, leaving a scorch mark on the grass. Civilians hurried away, coughing and waving the smoke from their faces. Hero staggered back, the energy drain hitting her like a freight train.
Villain chuckled, rising to his feet and taking a step closer. “Oh, bravo! I give that a solid eight out of ten. Good aim, but the follow-through? Needs work.”
Hero shot him a glare, though it lacked her usual fire. “Maybe next time I’ll aim for you.”
“Such hostility,” Villain replied, smirking. “You really need to work on your anger issues.”
Seeing that there was nothing more that Villain was going to do, other than annoy her more, Hero turned away without another word, unwilling to let him see just how much effort it took to stay upright. Villain watched her go, his smirk faltering as he caught the faint tremble in her hands.
Hero ducked into a nearby alley, leaning heavily against the brick wall as she tried to catch her breath. The midday heat was relentless, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin. The effort of short-circuiting the device shouldn’t have drained her this much, but it had.
She focused on her breathing, remembering what Superhero had taught her to do when she was feeling this drained. The exhausting effects her powers had on her had been a source of confusion for the medics at the agency, and it left even superhero baffled.
She glanced down at her trembling hands, clenching them into fists as if that could stop the shaking.
“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath, though even her own voice sounded distant.
A faint rustle of movement behind her made her spin around, energy sparking involuntarily at her fingertips. But there was nothing there. Just shadows stretching across the alley floor, still and unmoving.
Hero pressed her palms to her temples, exhaling slowly. She needed to pull herself together before someone else got hurt—or worse, before she collapsed mid-fight.
Unbeknownst to her, Villain lingered on a nearby rooftop, watching her from above. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a look of quiet curiosity. It wasn’t like Hero to show weakness. Seeing her now, slumped against a wall and struggling to keep herself upright, made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
“She’s falling apart,” he murmured, though the words lacked his usual mockery.
For a moment, he considered leaving. After all, her struggles weren’t his concern. But instead, he stayed, eyes narrowing as he watched her disappear deeper into the alley.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A few days after the incident in the park, Hero was sent out to a nearby attack.
The abandoned construction site loomed on the edge of the city, skeletal beams casting jagged shadows under the warm afternoon sun. Hero arrived to find chaos once again—steel beams teetering precariously, debris raining down, and a group of workers crouched together, their faces pale with fear.
Villain stood atop a partially constructed scaffold, arms crossed as he surveyed the scene below.
“You really do have a flair for dramatics,” Hero called up, though her voice was hoarse from exhaustion.
Villain looked down, raising a brow. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days. Rough week?”
Hero didn’t bother responding, instead focusing on guiding the workers to safety. Each movement felt heavier, her energy reserves dangerously low. When the last worker was clear, she turned toward Villain, chest heaving.
“Enough,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “What do you want?”
Villain slid down from the scaffold, landing lightly on his feet. “Oh, you know me. Just here to push your buttons. And judging by that lovely little stumble earlier, I’d say I’m doing a fine job.”
“I’d like to see how well you stand after multiple overtime shifts in a week,” hero huffed. “Unless you’d be interested in walking over here and putting the cuffs on, I think we’re done here.”
“But where would the fun be in that? And besides, I’d hate to take away the fun of the chase for you.” Villain smirked at Hero
“Funny thing about a chase - one typically need to have the energy for it, and I do not.”
Hero’s legs buckled slightly, but she caught herself before falling. The effort it took to stay upright was obvious, and for a moment, Villain’s smirk faltered.
“Careful, now,” he said, his tone lighter. “Wouldn’t want to break something. That’d really ruin my plans.”
Hero glared at him, but it lacked her usual fire. Without another word, she turned and began walking away. Villain watched her go, his hands shoved into his pockets. For the first time, his usual satisfaction felt… hollow.
I love a good overworked hero. So tired but still trying to keep that public eye image of themselves strong.
But, I don’t mean just tired.
I mean staying up till 4 AM only to wake up at 5 to start more paperwork or commute to their day job. Or setting that alarm for 30 minutes, just in desperate need of a nap, because they didn’t sleep at all, there just isn’t the time with all of the hero work they keep getting.
Heroes who are just living off of coffee and energy drinks and yet it ceases to help. Thief hands are constantly jittering from the boosts of caffeine and yet they’re still so tired.
Heroes that can’t even go to bed, only making it as far as the couch. Better yet, falling asleep at their desk or after driving home about to get out of the car and just passing out until they’re waking up to phone notifications from the hero agency.
Heroes who desperately need sleep. And it’s not even one particular villain’s fault. If anything it’s the government and their poor treatment of heroes.
“Are you even listening to me? …Oh. You’re asleep.” How exhausted was the hero if they were falling asleep mid-monologue in the middle of a citywide scheme? Perhaps...perhaps the villain would let them rest, just for a little while.
Kit’s palms were sweating as he walked into the hospital, stopping at the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist, Heather. She smiled with her painted red lips when she saw Kit. It shouldn’t have made him nauseous, Heather always had red lipstick on and it suited her. She was very pretty with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and red lips, but it just reminded him now of Ambrose.
“Hey Kit, you goin’ up to your old man?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
“Of course, doll. Go right ahead.”
Kit thanked her and walked on to the stairs. He needed the stairs to give him the time to gather his thoughts. What was he going to say? How was he going talk to him after knowing exactly what Ambrose was like? When he knew exactly what Omen was capable of… and Kit was getting off light.
His mind was still somewhat in tact. How was he supposed to look at him, the man that took Kit into his house and raised him, and know that he had been spared?
The guilt bloomed like tar in his gut; pitch black, oozing and heavy. Fuck, his hands were shaking. What if his powers flared up when he was in there? He couldn’t control his red lightning that Ambrose kept bringing out in him… and it only happened when he was… well, angry, but —
Fuck.
Kit paused on the final step to Mentor’s floor. How much of himself would he see in Mentor now? How much suffering? Would he recognise the commands that Ambrose plagued his mind with?
It didn’t matter.
That was the thought that forced him up the final step and down the hallway to the psych ward. It didn’t matter what he thought or what he would see or face, because it was Mentor. If the roles were reversed, Kit knows that Mentor would be in here to see him— every single day, not every week.
The power-proofed psych ward was on the basement floor so if patients wanted to jump out of windows they could do it with minimal damage to themselves or others.
Kit hated walking up to the doors and pressing the button to be buzzed in. Hated how he knew that even if somehow Mentor got better miraculously, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself and come home.
Kit hadn’t been to Mentor’s house since the docks either, he should probably pay it a visit, put on the heat. The thoughts of the empty house getting damp and lonely… well, Kit just knew that mentor wouldn’t want that.
The door buzzed and Kit pushed it open. He walked down the hall, took a right at the nurses station and then stopped at the last door on the left. It was opened, so was his window. Mentor sat in his armchair staring at the birds as they sang a happy tune.
Kit paused at the door, just watching Mentor as he hummed softly back to the birds. He looked peaceful, wearing his favourite maroon sweater that Kit had gotten him one Christmas and his blue and red chequered pyjama bottoms.
Kit swallowed and stepped into the room, but where before Mentor would have noticed him lingering in the doorway, he didn’t even turn his head as Kit walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.
“Mentor,” said Kit softly. The corner of Mentor’s lips quipped up into a small smile at Kit’s voice, and Kit wanted to cry. He caught him on one of his rare good days. “How are you doing?”
“The birds are singing, Kit,” Mentor replied, his gaze dreamy. “The sun is shining. You’re here. I’m somewhat lucid.”
He turned his head to Kit, his warm blue eyes smiling. “I think I’m doing pretty great.”
Kit couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he had crossed the short distance between the bed and Mentor’s chair to throw his arms around his— his family. He wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Why he hasn’t visited in the last three months. Explain everything, tell him he knew what Mentor was going through because he was going through it too.
He settled for Mentor’s arms wrapping around him in their strong warm embrace, not at all cold like Ambrose.
“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.”
“I just…” the words choked on the way out, so Kit just squeezed Mentor tighter. “I miss you so much.”
“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters isn’t it? Right now. We don’t have long before some nurse will give out to me for having visitors eh?” Kit laughed despite himself and pulled away from Mentor, nodding. Mentor didn’t let Kit’s arm go, he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. “So we need to catch up on everything important, right?”
Kit nodded, his heart overwhelmed with joy. “Yeah.”
“Go on, sit down,” said Mentor, gesturing to the bed and Kit obeyed.
Mentor leaned forward and clasped his hands together, dropping them between his knees and fixing his features into a more sombre expression. Kit had the sudden feeling that Mentor somehow knew about Ambrose and his whole tragic ordeal, but then something glimmered in his eyes — an old familiar mischief that Superhero said Kit inherited from Mentor.
“Who’s top of the premier league? What have I missed? What about the rugby, and your car guys— what’re they called?”
“Formula one?” Kit asked with a startled laugh. He forgot he could be happy, but Kit wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt.
“Yeah! Formula one, Ferrari and all them. I need all the updates because they only have the shit channels in here, and none of them are sports.”
Kit laughed again before he descended into a recap of all the sports developments he could think of recently. Well, almost recently if he discounted the last three month gap in his knowledge.
From sports they went onto movies, from movies they talked about the house and Kit’s apartment and then Mentor asked: “and how about work? Are you still in the Hero business?”
Kit could feel his smile fade at the question. That was the question of the hour was the it? Was he still a Hero? Could he even be considered one anymore?
He ignored the quiet voice in his head that asked: did he even want to be one anymore?
Instead Kit skirted around the issue. He told Mentor that Superhero had taken over as the new Superhero, that Kit worked closely with him. “Oh yeah. I always liked Superhero. He’s a nice guy, good moral compass.”
Kit told him that they were still hunting down Omen and Mentor’s eyes narrowed into points as sharp as daggers. “No.”
Kit blinked. “What?”
“No,” Mentor repeated. He got out of his chair and he walked towards Kit, grabbing both of Kit’s hands and squeezing them before kneeling in front of Kit. Kit stared down, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Kit promise me! Promise me you won’t go near that man.”
“Mento—”
“Kit!” Mentor cut in, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading with all his soul. “Promise me! You’ll stay miles away from him. He is only pain. I spent twenty years in the Hero business and I had never met a monster before him, Kit. You promise me!”
“I—”
“Promise me!”
“I promise,” Kit whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but the urgency that Mentor was speaking with— Kit couldn’t say no to him. Not when he was like this. Tension released from Mentor’s shoulders as he let out a sigh, squeezing Kit’s hands again before letting them go and getting to his feet.
He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit froze, remembering cold fingers yanking his head up — but no! This was Mentor, not Ambrose. Mentor ruffled his hair affectionately in the same way he used to when he first met Kit and then withdrew his hand.
“You’re a good kid, Kit.”
Kit scoffed as he got to his feet. “Kid? Reckon I could still take you old man.”
Mentor’s eyes lit up with that glimmering mischief that Kit missed so much. “Oh yeah? Think you’re a tough guy now?”
“Tough enough to knock you on your arse.”
Mentor hummed like a monk, bringing his hands together in a pray before moving into a kung-fu pose, palm stretched out in front of him raised towards the ceiling. “You have much yet to learn, young Padawan.”
When Mentor flexed his fingers for Kit to give him his best shot, Kit smiled softly and walked towards him, finally wrapping his arms around Mentor instead. Mentor stiffened initially then relaxed and enveloped Kit in his warmth. “Hey Kid. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Mentor wasn’t old enough to be retired, he was only… what? Late thirties? Early forties? He shouldn’t be here in this fucking psych ward, he should be at home with Kit. He should still be the number one hero. He should… he should have his own mind back. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, Mentor could still have his life!
“Hey… hey! Hey!” Mentor started shouting and Kit let go of him, stepping away. Mentor’s face contorted into fear and anger and disgust as he backed up to the wall, gasping. “Hey! What?! What did you do to me?”
Kit’s eyebrows knitted down into pained expression. “Mentor I—”
That was all Kit got out before Mentor was on him. Mentor grabbed Kit by his t-shirt and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs with a harsh hiss. “Mentor!”
Mentor’s fists curled in tight to Kit’s shirt, knuckles digging into Kit’s collarbone painfully. “What did you do to me! Huh! Make it stop! Make them stop!”
Mentor yanked Kit forward and shoved him back harder against the wall. Kit stared with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Mentor… he had never seen Mentor this bad before, where he didn’t even recognise him.
The screaming had alerted some nurses that came running into the room, yelling Mentor’s name.
“You ruined me!” Mentor wailed as nurses put their arms on him and tried to get him off Kit. “You ruined me! You destroyed me!”
“I—” Kit began but cut himself off, no words ready to flow from his lips in his defence.
“Mentor we need you to calm down and let go of Kit,” one of the nurses said.
Mentor shook his head, angry tears bubbling up on the side of his eyes. “You have some nerve showing up here, Omen. I would recognise you anywhere.”
“What?” Kit asked, breathless. His voice coming out so broken, choked. The nurses grabbed Mentor’s wrists and pried him off of Kit.
“Kit, you have to go. I’m sorry.”
“I—”
“Kit, I know it’s very distressing but please.”
He didn’t even look for the nurse who asked him to go. He just left in a stupor.
“Monster! Monster! You’re letting him go! I’LL FIND YOU ONE DAY, OMEN!” Mentor screamed, his voice echoing down the hall all the way to Kit’s ears. Kit flinched at the horrid sound of it, too broken and crazed and angry. “MONSTER! MONSTER! YOU’RE LETTING HIM GO!”
Kit flinched as a hand hit his shoulder. “Oh sorry, Kit.”
Kit turned to face a nurse who had a sad, pitying smile on her face. He was a little numb to it, he didn’t even smile back. “I just want to say he does that with us all,” he said kindly. “He calls us all Omen, and I know it must be shocking to hear it.”
Kit cleared the lump in his throat. “How… uh, how is he?”
“His lucid moments are getting longer, stronger, he remembers more.”
“And these moments?”
The pity in the nurse’s eyes said it all. “Longer, stronger, he’s… well, you saw him.”
Kit nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. He gestured to the door, and cleared his throat and the Nurse nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you go. Just… just don’t ruminate on it, Kit. That’s not him, that’s not the Mentor you know.”
Yeah, Kit thought, and even his thoughts sounded heartbroken to his ears. I know.
That was the real cruelty of what Ambrose did to Mentor. He took away everything that was Mentor, that made him the number one Hero, a father figure, an older brother. Omen sucked all his goodness out and replaced it with his own sick poison to try and diminish Mentor to nothing but a raving lunatic that had to be locked in a psych ward for his own safety.
When he walked out into the fresh air, Kit threw up in the nearest bin because: that could have been him. Ambrose could any day decide that he’s bored of Kit and then melt his mind like he did to Mentor, he could do it with a simple thought. Destroy him…
No, the nurse was right. Mentor isn’t gone. He isn’t destroyed, Ambrose missed that part even though it’s probably what he wanted. The lucid Mentor Kit hugged and laughed with and grew up with, that was Mentor. Ambrose didn’t destroy Mentor, and he wouldn’t destroy Kit either.
Kit ditched the idea of going back to his shitty apartment where Ambrose was no doubt waiting for him, or possibly waiting for him which was worse.
Kit’s mind went back to the rules and he smirked.
You can’t move apartment.
Ambrose never said anything about moving back home. Technically, Kit wasn’t even moving. He had some clothes back home, he could just relax there for a while. Take a load off. He wasn’t moving anywhere.
He stopped into the shop to grab some groceries before taking the metro back to his real home. Kit and Mentor’s home. It was a nice house, not too big or too small.
Kit remembers when he saw it for the first time, he thought it was huge and too much. The lawn was perfectly mowed, Mentor telling Kit that they would need to plant some flowers or something to cheer it up a little. The hedges around the wall surrounding it made it feel so warm and cosy.
Now the grass was overgrown, the flowers dead, the hedges needed a good chop. Kit frowned as he stared at the house, the stone walls with their big windows that they would throw open in the summer. It was so strange that Mentor wasn’t here with him.
If he was he would rock up beside Kit and pat his back, tell him: “it just needs a bit of work and a bit of love.”
With the drab Autumn weather, the house had an eerie glow to it, like it knew Mentor wasn’t coming home too. That suited him fine, maybe Kit and the house could find some comfort in each other.
He opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of the familiar lock clacking open took, what felt like, a tonne weight off of Kit’s shoulders. It smelled the same way it always did, he couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it smelled like home.
The first thing he needed to do was put on the heat cause fuck it was cold in here. He deposited the groceries on the kitchen island and his keys before waking to the utility room and pressing the heat on.
Please have some heat, please have some heat.
With a click and a whirr the heat came on and Kit silently thanked Mentor and his need to over-prepare for everything, because what if it gets cold in summer. LBetter to have it than want it.
Kit put the groceries away, almost robotically. He wasn’t hungry so he didn’t eat. He clicked the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug, plopping in four teaspoons of coffee. Then switched the kettle off and left his mug on the countertop.
He turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his lower back against the counter, worrying his bottom lip.
He didn’t really want to do anything.
He didn’t remember what it was like to want something.
Well… he did, he just didn’t— he had wanted to not be in pain. He wanted to not be around Ambrose, but after that? He kind of forgot what it was like to have a life of his own. What it was like to live before Ambrose had taken him and tortured him.
He—
He rolled his eyes and let out an audible, frustrated groan. He should go to bed, or, catch up on all the sports he missed. At least then when he saw Mentor again he would be able to tell him about the most recent updates instead of months old information.
Kit walked to the living room and settled down into his favourite seat on the sofa, fighting everything in him not to glance over to Mentor’s empty seat. It’s not like ignoring the seat made him feel any better, he still had that aching, gnawing in his chest that made everything feel a little wrong. A little off.
His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was flipping mindlessly through the sports channels, none of the programs catching his interest or attention at all. Did he really used to watch TV for fun? He could always look up the results or whatever, but it wasn’t really the same. He pulled out his phone, and stared down at the lock screen.
A text from Ambrose lit up the screen. Two simple words, that filled Kit with an unreasonable amount of anger. It hadn’t even been a day yet without the bastard there to torment him. He couldn’t even go a day without gloating.
Ambrose: Miss me yet? :)
Kit turned his phone off. It was dramatic, but it made him feel a little better. As if Kit was the one in control and not the other way around. Kit sighed and threw the phone onto the couch, leaving it there as he turned on off the TV and stood.
Today was just… too much of everything and anything and maybe, just maybe, if he slept tomorrow when he woke up he’d feel a little less like a zombie. A little more human. The idea pushed him towards his bedroom, ascending the stairs with heavy feet.
*~*~*~*~*
Continued here
Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour
I wrote two Day 1’s, no you’re not seeing things and no I’m not sorry
*~*~*~*~*
The villains dragged a half alive Hero through winding hallways, down stairs and finally stopped before a door. Hero barely had the energy to keep themselves up so they let themselves be dragged, not that they had a choice about it anyways. Not like they could fight off two Villains in their current state. Their boots were dragging against the floor as the door in front of them buzzed open and Hero was dragged in.
Their hands were cuffed in front of them with power dampeners, draining far more than their power. Their clarity, their energy all washing away draining to their wrists through clogging veins to make the disgusting cuffs work and keep Hero subdued.
“That will be all. Thank you, gentlemen.”
They dropped Hero in the middle of the room, Hero’s knees hitting the hard stone and slumping there. Useless and stupid. Rival was right. They should have never tried to take Supervillain down on their own, but Hero had to try. They had to try. Superhero was in hospital thanks to this arsehole.
And the worst part was that Rival was right. Supervillain was baiting Hero to come and fight, knowing Hero was emotional, knowing Hero would bite. God, Rival was insufferable enough as it is, when he finds out what Hero did…
Maybe it would be a bigger mercy if Supervillain were to kill them, than endure all the Told you so’s that would be waiting at home.
“You seem distant, Hero. Where’s all that ego now, hmm? That fight in you that delights me.”
Hero held up their cuffed wrists in reply. “I’m tired,” said Hero. “Take these off and we can dance if you like.”
Supervillain just laughed. Hero squinted into the darkness, trying to see the villain’s silhouette. The walls were bouncing off every noise it seemed and Hero couldn’t see Supervillain.
Maybe he wasn’t here.
Maybe that was a good thing.
A hand fisted in Hero’s hair and yanked their head back, craning their neck up to see Supervillain standing above them. A horrible smile painted onto his stupid mask. He kept pulling Hero’s head back and back until it was hard to breathe, but Hero just kept up his glare.
“You are adorable, aren’t you?” Supervillain purred, a bony finger trailing up Hero’s cheek, tracing their jawline and down to Hero’s throat. Hero swallowed in spite of themselves and looked away, Supervillain’s stare was too intense. Too intrusive.
Like he was trying to unearth every secret and lie Hero had ever told and use it against them. Supervillain let go of Hero’s hair and Hero’s head bobbed back straight, their neck sore from the stretch. Finely tailored suit trousers came to stand in front of Hero, before crouching down, a hand on Hero’s chin, tilting their head up to those horrible eyes.
“You must be a hugger,” Hero said, creeped out by how much touching this Supervillain seemed to be doing. Like they were inspecting a prized horse or something. Supervillain’s drawn on smile stayed the same. So it was a surprise when Hero’s head whipped to the side, the sound of a smack echoing off the reverberating walls.
Supervillain’s fingers were grabbing Hero’s chin again tilting their head up and back. Hero didn’t know what to do. They were just slapped. No one had ever slapped them, no one.
Punches? Obviously.
Kicks? Definitely.
Cuts? Too many.
But a slap? Like Hero was some bold child… it felt too… too personal.
“I’m not a fan of glib comments, Hero.”
“I wasn’t—“ another slap on the same cheek, except harder.
“Or back chat for that matter,” said Supervillain, moving to grab Hero’s face again but Hero pushed themselves back on their knees, falling back onto their honkers and away from Supervillain’s hand. Sluggish. Heavy. Not very far.
Supervillain straightened, standing tall and looming over the defenceless Hero and Hero wished they just listened to Rival for once and stayed home.
“You don’t want to do that, Hero,” said Supervillain, taking the whole step closer. That’s how far Hero got away. A single, short step and Supervillain was angry. Chastising. Tutting Hero as they flinched when Supervillain reached out again, putting their hands up in defence.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Hero hissed, which only served in getting another slap and Hero let out a small helpless cry. Supervillain grabbed the chain between the handcuffs and yanked Hero up so they were standing.
“I’ll do what I like to you, Hero. You need to learn your place here. You’ll be here for a long enough time so we might as well get along, hmm?”
A heavy weight pressed down on Hero’s chest at the threat, said so softly. It felt like a hand was gripping Hero’s heart and squeezing it hard. So Hero did what any frightened animal does when backed into a corner. Hero bit supervillain’s hand holding their handcuffs and shoved hard with all their strength, running for the door they came through.
They had to go. They had to leave. They didn’t want to stay here with Supervillain. Please.
Hero slammed their hand on the button of the door like the other Villain’s did and when it didn’t work they cursed and punched the button again and again. “Come on!”
They tried to pry the doors open with their fingers but they wouldn’t budge and Hero screamed their frustration. “Fuck!”
A hand in the back of their collar and Hero was yanked back and thrown to the ground. They rolled with the force of it, before landing on their side, handcuffed hands in front of them. They breathed heavy and deep, trying to calm themselves as Supervillain strolled over. A swift kick to the ribs, followed by another to the face and Hero was thrown onto their back with the force of it. A dress shoe landed square in their chest, pressure building beneath it and Hero struggled to push it off as Supervillain leaned their weight on their leg.
“Let’s not have another outburst like that one again Hero, shall we? Or who knows what the consequences will be.”
“I can’t spend the rest of my life chasing you around.”
The villain stared at them, wide-eyed. “But...that’s what we do! I commit petty themed crimes, and you chase me down. We have a bit of a tussle, you arrest me, I go to jail and bust myself out a week later. This is our thing?” It came out as more of a question than they wanted it to.
The hero shook her head, and even that looked exhausted. “I have bigger fish to fry. Villains that murder and rampage and drown half the city. I can’t- I can’t pare the time to thwart your little schemes anymore. I’m sorry, but I’m done with this. We’re through.”
“But then...who will stop me?”
She shrugged. “The police, the special forces, the CIA. Someone. Anyone. But not me.”
