Achoo!

Achoo!

Hero was absolutely determined to enter the base unnoticed. They slunk through the shadows like a cat, graceful and assured. Every breath was carefully measured, every footfall quiet and even.

They slipped past the first door, then down a corridor. They followed it to the right, then paused to study the light filtering through the door frame at the end of the hall.

It sounded as if the TV was on, possibly some local news station. The light shifted colors as the broadcast presumably changed frames.

Perfect, the villain would be distracted.

Hero crept to a room on the right, pushing open the door slowly after spraying the hinges with a little lubricant to prevent them from squeaking.

Inside the room, as their eyes adjusted to the dark, Hero could see filing cabinets appear on the far wall.

Bingo.

They crept across the floor, sliding upon the top drawer of the first cabinet after picking the lock with a small kit they shoved back into their pocket.

They flipped through file after file, reaching, stacking, and scanning as fast as they dared.

Finally, they got to the alphabet range they believed the information they needed would be filed under. This cabinet looked particularly untouched, covered in a thick layer of dust that Hero crinkled their nose at.

Villain really should invest in a swiffer.

Lo and behold, the file they needed was inside, but unfortunately buried at the back. They finagled the paper folder out then clutched it tightly to their chest. Ready to leave, they applauded their own silence as the last drawer clicked shut.

Everything was going according to plan.

That was, until, they sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Ah!”

Hero jumped, knocking over a stack of boxes and sending more particles into the air as a result. They whirled on the villain, who stood in the door frame with their arms crossed. They opened their mouth-and sneezed a second time.

And then a third.

“Bless you, bless you,” Villain chuckled.

Hero sniffed loudly then pointed an accusatory finger at the villain.

“You scared me!”

“I scared you. Which one of us showed up in the other’s base with no warning?” They asked, looking down the bridge of their nose at the hero.

Hero huffed, “I didn’t know I needed an invitation to infiltrate my enemy’s lair.”

“You don’t, not when you do it secretly.”

“I was being sneaky!” Hero defended.

“Right,” Villain shook their head, “And I assume that sneeze was strategic?”

“It’s not my fault you don’t clean!”

“Well,” the villain started, “since I caught you, I’m going to need you to put that file back.”

Hero hung their head in disappointment, but turned to place the Manila folder back anyway.

“What now?” They asked.

“Now, we get you a tissue, I suppose.”

Alone

“Does it ever get lonely?”

Villain’s nemesis turned their head slowly, caught off guard by the question that broke the careful silence between them.

“What?” The hero questioned dumbly, trying to process the sudden inquiry.

They weren’t by themselves. Their enemy was sat at their side, now giving them a look that Hero couldn’t quite decipher.

“Like, people treating you differently, I guess,” Villain stumbled before continuing, “Don’t you ever just want to feel normal?”

Hero froze, furrowing their brow in confusion.

What wasn’t normal about their life? They ate, slept, went to class, did their work. Saving the world was just…a hobby.

Everybody had those, right?

Hero shook their head automatically.

“Thats just what happens when you lose the mask,” they dismissed, “People treat you differently. It is what it is.”

They weren’t sure what to make of their enemy’s abrupt curiosity. Their face reveal was nothing more than a practical decision. One they had never doubted.

“So you don’t miss before?” Villain queried.

What was there to miss about anonymity?

Now, they didn’t have to worry about struggling with secrets, goggle malfunctions, or their identity being used against them. It made everything easier. The decision had helped them do their hero work more efficiently and live their daily life without constant mistruths.

“Of course not.”

So why did it feel like they were still lying?

They didn’t regret it, they knew they didn’t. It’s just that, somewhere in the process of making life easier, it had somehow simultaneously gotten harder.

Without the mask, there was no hiding. Now, there was only staring at every turn, high expectations in every area. Now, their friends could only share sympathy, not empathy. Without the mask, at the end of the day, it was just them.

“Yes,” they breathed.

“Yes, what?”

The response was too far removed from any question to be sure what the hero was referring to.

“Yes, I miss it. Yes, I want to feel normal. Yes, I feel so alone.”

Their words crescendoed, then fell back down to a whisper at the final confession.

The silence greeted them again like a familiar friend as a few seconds passed.

“You’re not, you know,” Villain spoke into the air.

It was Hero’s turn to ask, again, “What?”

“Alone. You’re not.”

Villain looked up from their fiddling hands, attempting to share their sincerity through their gaze.

Hero’s throat tightened.

Weren’t they?

Sometimes they wished they could just glue the damned thing back on their face. It wasn’t what was best for them, but it was less scary, being ignored. No one knowing them. No one seeing them.

The lies had been destroying them, but the truth was just so much harder to live.

The disbelief showed through on the hero’s face as they picked absentmindedly at their nails.

“Just because you’re my archenemy, doesn’t mean you’re my only enemy.”

Their eyes met, and Hero realized Villain was serious.

“You…fight other people?”

“Of course I fight other people,” the villain laughed lightly, “Did you really think you’re the only hero in the world?”

They didn’t, but…they didn’t think it was the same. It was so easy to get caught up in their own coverage, their own issues. Plus, the superheroes operated on a different level. They couldn’t possibly struggle with something as trivial as an identity reveal.

Hero opened their mouth, but no sound came out.

“I’m gonna give you some numbers,” Villain pulled a pen out from their pocket, grabbing the Hero’s hand from where it rested and writing ink down across it, “Call them. It’ll help, I promise.”

Hero blinked down at the symbols now written in blue on dorsal side of their hand.

It was a strange day to be taking advice from their nemesis, but they’d be lying if they said they didn’t want to try.

Maybe, they really weren’t as alone as they thought.

#124

The hero rolls up on the driveway of a simple house. A giant tree is taking up most of the front garden, and with a squint they can see the cat they’re here to rescue, sitting as high as physically possible amongst the leaves. Someone is standing at the bottom, staring up at it, a large blanket wrapped in their arms.

The hero gets out of their car and slams the door behind them, earning the person’s attention. The hero is rather surprised, for lack of a better word, to find the villain looking back at them.

The villain seems to go through the five stages of grief in the space of a second. Their whole body is tensed, like they’re going to bolt at any second. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The hero turns their eyes up to the cat above them. A giant thing, bless. A ragdoll, if the fluffiness is anything to go by. “Is the cat yours?”

The villain follows their gaze. “I called the fire apartment for that,” they mumble.

“Well, the fire department sent me,” the hero says innocently. “How long has it been up there?”

“She has been there for two hours.”

“And you stood out here for two hours before you thought calling someone was a good idea?”

“Did the fire department send you to mock me?” The villain scowls, the blanket scrunched tight in their fists. “I don’t think I can be bothered dealing with you today.”

“Nah, they just thought I could earn some bonus popularity with the public if I save a cat,” the hero comments idly.

“Well, you’re not earning any popularity here,” the villain snaps, “so you can go ahead and get the people I actually called out here.”

“What would the agency think if I can’t even save a cat?” The hero barks a laugh. “Unfold your blanket. It’s useless like that.”

The villain’s scowl deepens but they do as they’re told, flapping the blanket to unravel it from whatever weird braid they’ve woven it into. The hero studies the tree, carefully testing the sturdiness of the footholds, before carefully puling themself off the ground.

The villain looks up to find the hero halfway up the tree and, perhaps in the world’s rarest show of concern, cries, “what are you doing?”

“Saving your cat,” the hero retorts between short breaths. The cat yowls as they get close, a spit of a hiss thrown at them as a warning. Pets are like their owners, the hero supposes.

“You’re okay, Dusty!” the villain shouts, then a little more incredulously, “she doesn’t like other people. Just so you know.”

The hero can see that from the way Dusty—Dusty, how much does the villain hate her to call her that?—is still hissing and edging out of reach. She can’t go much further but by god, she’s going to try.

The branch under the hero curves dangerously as they pull themself up. Dusty’s claws are very much out, digging into the bark under her feet as the branch sways, another hiss spat at the hero. “I’m trying to help you,” the hero says sharply, as if she can understand them. “God, I’m not doing this for you again.”

The hero edges along the branch, acutely aware of how much it’s bending under their weight. Seemingly too close for comfort, Dusty makes a furious swipe with that hiss that’s probably going to haunt the hero’s nightmares. “[Villain],” they call, “get under her. It’s not exactly stable up here.”

The villain moves into position without complaint, the blanket stretched out in their arms. The hero doesn’t get to check them before Dusty’s making another goddamn swipe. Dogs, the hero thinks, are so much easier.

The hero nudges closer and the cat’s not having it. She skirts back with another hiss, but the branch is too thin behind her. Her back foot misses its mark, and with a yowl she slips off the branch.

The hero and the villain yelp in tandem. The hero’s too far away to catch her. The villain leaps in, blanket brandished like a shield, and Dusty flops into it like a furious sun sucked into a silky black hole.

The hero’s never been so happy to get out of a tree. By the time they’re on solid ground again the villain’s swaddled Dusty in the blanket, her face poking out of the top, clearly very comfortable in the villain’s arms.

She notices the hero approaching before the villain. She turns her gaze to them and, without a care for what just happened, gives them one last hiss.

The villain laughs. “She has her morals in line, at least.”

“She’s just like you.” The hero rolls their eyes in mock offence. “Though she’s too nice to you to be called Dusty.”

“Oh, she’s not Dusty technically,” the villain says matter-of-factly. “It’s short for Feather Duster.”

The hero blinks at them. They’re not convinced that’s any better.

“Because she’s so fluffy she looks like a feather duster,” the villain continues, “and because I need one to clean up after her. She gets fur everywhere.”

The hero finally finds the words to say. “Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

“I know.” The villain grins, nuzzling their nose into the top of Dusty’s head. No, the hero is not calling her Feather Duster. “But she loves me anyway.”

Clearly, from the way she’s purring like a train. “Evil loves company.”

The villain strokes her head for a moment before turning back to the hero with a look they don’t like. “I’ll be honest, [Hero],” they start slowly, “I’m not here next week, and I need a cat sitter to look after—“

“Absolutely not,” the hero cuts in. “This was enough of an experience.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” The villain pulls the blanket back for her face to show a little more. “She is cute though, isn’t she?”

The hero looks down at Dusty. She blinks back at them slowly, already half asleep in the villain’s arms. The hero really hates to admit it, but she is kind of cute. At least when she’s not screaming at them and threatening to rip them to shreds.

But the hero would rather die than give the villain an ego boost. They hold back a knowing smile, and says every pet owner's call to violence: “Nah.”

A Gambit

[CW: threats, blood, knife violence, captivity]

(Hero POV)

There was a knife at my throat, which was pretty expected honestly.

I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to sneak into public enemy number one’s private base and be greeted with warm milk and cookies. Sure, being held at knifepoint wasn’t ideal, but stakes were high enough that I was running out of options.

This was a risk I was willing to take.

I slowly raised my open hands. Surrender: the logical course of action when one is caught effectively off guard deep in unfamiliar territory.

“Don’t move and I might consider letting you live another second,” was whispered harshly in my ear, and I heeded the command disguised as a suggestion. The slow and controlled rise and fall of my chest was the only movement I allowed my body to make as my captor grabbed a hold of one lifted hand and pulled it behind my back, my arm folding painfully to provide the physical leverage the knife against my neck could not. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, but I tried not to worry about anything more than my main objective: staying alive.

“Grab your weapon slowly. Drop it. Kick it out of reach,” he ordered concisely.

I obediently unclipped the large knife sheathed on my belt, then dropped it to the floor and kicked it away.

Apparently, the distance the knife skittered was not satisfactory because I was subsequently yanked backwards a few more feet until we stopped and my shoulders were once again flush with the collarbones of the chest behind me.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I was questioned, and thus the careful game begun.

It was much too early to show all my cards, but I had to say something. While it was a decently good sign that I wasn’t killed the second I was discovered, I certainly wasn’t going to push my luck by not providing an answer.

“I need something. You have it,” I answered simply, forcing the words out as strongly as I could and hoping to buy myself a ticket to a second location with a less immediate threat of death.

The hallway in which we currently stood seemed to be closing in on its self, the shadows threatening to swallow me the second the knife would pierce my skin and end my life. I needed to get out of here.

I needed to survive.

I didn’t lie per se, but I was certainly aiming for a misleading omission with my statements. I felt like a shady salesman pitching a hook, except this salesman’s life depending on this customer’s purchase.

“Yeah? And what might that be?” The voice sounded deceptively interested, but it came from dangerously close to my ear.

And that was my cue to shut up.

“Ok. We can do it this way.”

My knees were kicked out from behind, and I went slamming into the floor. My tongue caught between my teeth on the way down, and metallic blood soon found its way across my taste buds. Hands ran across my clothes and into my pockets, methodically stripping me of my tools and supplies. My boots were removed and their knives tossed across the room. Pressure on my shoulder kept me down, but on a positive note, there was no longer a blade biting against my skin.

I focused on the iron taste and taking steady and clear breaths as the man above me worked. A renewed grip locked both arms behind my back and I was hauled onto my feet again. An aggressive push had me starting to walk, my sock-clad feet padding against and periodically tripping on the concrete toward a door settled into the far wall.

I was harshly marched down two more halls and through a smaller room, becoming more and more disconcerted that my captor wasn’t bothering to hide the layout of the base as we walked.

We eventually reached a room that was clearly equipped to handle prisoners. It was stocked with tools and restraints, which my captor made quick work of using to secure me. The room accomplished the intimidating vibe of a concrete box with bright-in-one-spot-but-dark-in-all-others fluorescent lighting, complete with chains along the wall and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center.

Once I was settled into the aforementioned chair, I realized it faced away from the only door in the room, leaving a view of only a blood spattered wall.

This was certainly a second location. Mission accomplished, sort of.

I still did not speak, what was there to say, really? Begging for my freedom would be pointless, and I refused to show unnecessary weakness of any kind. I was here for a reason after all, I could only hope prayer and patience would be enough to get me through this ordeal.

My captor paced at my back, his footfalls loud as he allowed his shoes to scuff roughly on the concrete floor. They came to a stop.

“Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He stepped in front of me and smiled wide, and suddenly I was considering the merits of spontaneously dropping dead right there in that chair.

“You see, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” he started, “How did you know to come here? Were you planning to steal what you needed, or is this some kind of delusional attempt at a business deal?” He continued, but my lips remained sealed, not that he could tell.

He seemed to realize this too, because he quickly ripped off every piece of clothing that covered my face, leaving it bare to be read and identified.

“Hero, how cute.”

Now he was interested.

His eyes traced the scar that ran from the corner of my nose up to my cheekbone. That’s what gave me away, he would know, because he’s the one who gave it to me. Not to suggest that us crossing paths was a regular occurrence, quite the opposite in fact. I had pledged to avoid the man after our unfortunate encounter, and it helped that I wasn’t much of a front-line fighter to begin with. I preferred sidelines and shadows, subtle work. And I rarely interfered in the big leagues. I was content to not make any powerful enemies, but unfortunately, circumstances change.

“You’re not getting what you came for,” Maybe I am, “so what’s the harm in giving it up?” He asked sweetly, nothing but innocence in his eyes as he stepped closer.

“Don’t think I’ll be asking nicely again,”he followed, and that- that possessive twinkle in his eyes. That was what I was banking on. This was going to work.

He circled me like a shark, slow and deliberate, but never reaching to fill his hands with a tool or a weapon. His relaxed demeanor put me on edge nonetheless. He had nothing to worry about. Capturing me was all business, now this was all play.

Silence continued to be my preferred strategy.

“Still quiet huh? Don’t worry, I’m really good at the quiet game,” he whispered the last part from behind me eerily, before walking away and shutting the door with a loud metal slam and leaving me alone. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it was a little late for second thoughts.

By the time he returned, I had already begun to preemptively associate the sound of the door and heavy footsteps with the sound of my doom. He appeared in front of me much too soon, empty handed with a justifiable air of confidence.

My heart started to race when Villain strutted over to a roll of plastic propped against the wall to my left. Slowly, he kicked it over to the center of the room where I sat in the chair, and then knelt to the ground to roll it out around me. He produced a knife I didn’t know he had been carrying, different from the one that had been held at my throat, previously concealed somewhere in the black cargo pants that covered over the ankle of his black combat boots. He sliced the plastic laid around me into a square perimeter about six feet on each side.

My mind screamed that I needed to change tactics, admit something or be admitted to an early grave. But revealing that I intended to use the most powerful man in the game was not going to work in my favor. What choice did I really have though, be a toy or admit to toying?

Villain stood now. He gave me little more than a glance before starting to walk past me on my left side, presumably towards the door again or maybe other equipment. Unfortunately that guess did not take into account his lighting-like speed.

He turned, and before I knew it a knife was stabbed straight through my hand. I blinked in disbelief at the metal jutting an inch and a half out the palm of my hand, blood starting to well up around it and drip down to the tip of the blade before falling to hit the plastic.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t better. Maybe this was as certain a death as I was already guaranteed.

Too late to turn back now.

The pain took about a full three seconds to register. I was unprepared for the strike, quick as a viper sinking its teeth into its prey. I choked on my shock, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Millan seized the opportunity, shoving a ball of fabric into my gaping mouth with forceful fingers.

“You don’t wanna talk? Don’t talk. I prefer it this way anyway,” he spoke, and my mistake became crystal clear.

Salvage. Games. He wants to play games.

His hand returned to the knife he had left skewered through my hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and my thoughts ran a thousand miles per minute, searching for something, anything, I could use as an opening move.

I was invited to the table, now I just had to figure out how to play.

The blade slipped easily back out of my flesh. It had missed bone, angled perfectly in the direction of my fingers.

I had to act now, before that blade found a new home in which to bury itself, presumably in a much more damaging location.

I coughed and spit to try and loosen the scrap in my mouth as I attempted to push it out with my tongue. I was making progress, but a hand was heading for my face again to try and re-secure the gag. Running out of time, I forced precious few syllables past the fabric that crudely hindered my speech.

“Ah-so-shee-a-shun.”

The hand reached its destination, but surprisingly opted to remove the obstacle from my mouth and toss it in a soggy heap to the floor.

“What was that?”

“The Association. I know something.”

I made a sour face in an attempt to resalivate my mouth and rid it of the awful cottony feel and taste.

“I have something on The Hero Association.”

“Hero, you do not waste a breath. I knew there was something I liked about you.” That creepy smiled returned, coupled with the glint in the eyes as the knife was wiped off on the knee of his pants. He crouched to a squat in front of me.

“I don’t suppose you’re in a particularly generous and sharing mood?” He cocked his head, studying my face as if seeing it for the first time.

“In your dreams. Sharing is caring, and I could not give less of a fuck about you.” I watched his face as he reacted to my words and knew by the way he lit up that I had picked the right path.

Never doubted it for a second.

“So why bring it up?”

“Figured it might save me a stab wound or two.”

“Or three or four,” he conceded, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips.

“Probably five.” He smiled back. “At least.”

The air in the room was lighter, and this exchange was seeming more and more like a tentative opportunity and less and less like certain doom. Blood still dripped from my hand, but I didn’t spare it another glance. I relaxed in my binds, and prepared for my next move.

Bad News

Villain knew Hero could see them through the wall, so when they grabbed the trash can from the street and threw it in their direction, they expected the hero to duck. When they peeked around the corner, they looked up just in time to see the metal container miss the hero by a concerningly-small margin. Hero just stood still, like they hadn’t even noticed how close they had just come to decapitation by dumpster.

Villain was dumbfounded by the hero’s careless behavior right in the middle of a fight.

“I could’ve seriously taken your head off!” Villain yelled, but their anger subsided when they saw the look on their enemies face.

Eyebrows pinched, mouth downturned, and eyes distant.

Distress, plain and simple was written all over their features.

Their suspicions were confirmed when they were able to successfully rush and grab hold of the hero, crossing their arms across their chest and preventing their escape. The hero squirmed, but they could do nothing caged tightly in the villain’s arms.

“What’s on your mind?” The villain inquired to their new, confusingly-distracted hostage.

“It’s nothing,” Hero deflected.

“It’s not,” Villain challenged, loosening their grip so that it wasn’t so harsh. When the hero flinched, Villain shifted to a gentler tone.

“It doesn’t take x-ray vision to see your heart isn’t in this right now.”

Reluctantly, Hero admitted, “I got some news, okay?”

“What kind of news?”

“Not good.”

The hero with enhanced vision turned their head and huffed.

Carefully, Villain asked, “How bad?”

“Not sure yet,” Hero sighed, going quiet for a moment before snapping, “Its always one thing after another. It never fucking stops, it’s just shit on top of an already heaping pile of shit-“

They cut off with a choke. When Villain looked down, they saw tears welled in their eyes.

“I just don’t know how to deal with it all. It’s just…too much.”

Hero sagged, and Villain’s restraining hold turned into something more reminiscent of a hug.

“Hey, I may seem like the strong one here, but if we measure in anything other than bone-crushing-abilities I think you’d have me beat.”

A moment passed in silence. Around them, the city buzzed. Cars passing, drivers honking, lights changing, life continuing. To Hero, the world shrunk. It was only the gentle breeze of their own breath passing through their lips, the rise and fall of their chest beneath the Villain’s arms.

“I don’t want to be strong,” they finally whispered.

“I know,” Villain hushed, “I’m sorry you have to be.”

Hero laughed weakly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Since when does my nemesis apologize?”

Villain allowed the abrupt shift, responding easily, “Since you started getting all sad I guess.”

Hero chuckled lightly in their arms, then sniffed.

“It’s okay to take a break, you know.”

Hero used their freshly released arm to wipe their sleeve across their nose.

“Nah, I’m right where I want to be. Plus, who else is gonna beat your ass if I’m gone?”

“Sad and delusional I’m afraid,” the super-strong criminal replied.

Villain stepped back, and the hero turned to face them.

“Thanks,” Hero offered awkwardly. They shifted on their feet, unsure of where to go from here.

Villain simply nodded, walking backwards across the concrete until the hero broke eye contact.

“Don’t mention it,” they called as they turned and left. The hero didn’t stop them as they cleared the crosswalk and disappeared.

You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid (Sequel to Spy?)

(Inspired by the song ‘You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid’ by The Offspring)

A kick, a slap, a left hook, too many punches to count.

At first, the attacks were directed at Hero. They were surrounded by enemies that were bonding over the shared betrayal and, naturally, they had felt the need to release their frustrations. The hero had a black eye and a bloody nose to prove it. After all, there wasn’t much they could do to avoid the blows while tied to a chair in a second safe house.

Well, they could talk.

“I was having a great hair day, and you all had to go and ruin, it didn’t you?”

They all hit a little harder after that.

Beating up on the revealed spy only united the group for so long, though. Soon the blaming started, lots of ‘you should have known’ and ‘maybe you were in on it too.’

Hero may have…egged them on a bit.

A little suggestion here, a pinch of eye contact there, and paranoia took root like a weed.

The infighting grew, and Hero now sat largely forgotten in the center of the room. No eyes were on them, and no ears would be able to pick out sounds they made.

It was an opening, and Hero was not one to waste an opportunity.

They surveyed the group, determining none were so experienced as to know never to leave a captive to their own devices. The leader was nowhere to be seen. He disappeared after Speedy and Blueprint had helped haul them from the bus and was replaced by Mover, which was the best news Hero had had all day. A beatdown was one thing, but the villain’s ominous comment had left them unnerved.

It was too bad no one had bothered to sweep the floor of the safe house. Beneath the dust and paint chips littering the ground, Hero spotted a chip of broken glass. It took some shuffling and some straining, but Hero was able to get it securely wedged under their foot.

Now, for the hard part.

Listening once again for any lull in the fighting, and hearing none, Hero gritted their teeth then rocked hard to the left. They shifted to the right, repeating the process. On their third tip, they went crashing to the floor, just as they had intended.

They narrowly avoided smacking their head on the concrete as the wooden chair splintered with the impact. One seat leg snapped, allowing them to slide the glass up to their bound hands against the floor with their foot.

One hand, then two were free, and they headed quickly for the back of the room. When the door closed behind them, they allowed themselves to feel a little victorious. This new room was darker, and they took a moment to take it in before making a move. Empty crates and overturned pallets made it difficult to scan the walls. There was the door they came out of, but they struggled to find an exit.

“What was that we said about running?”

Fuck.

Villain stepped out of the shadows and Hero waited for the others to materialize around him. Only, the silence stretched, and the others didn’t appear.

He was alone.

Somehow, that seemed worse.

He was infuriatingly confident, looking like a man that had never entered a situation he couldn’t control. He was comfortable, too comfortable for someone whose prisoner was in the process of escaping.

A thundering of footsteps alerted the hero that their headstart had expired. They whipped their head to the door, bracing to run again the second the crew busted into the room.

“It’s locked.”

Hero looked back to find Villain swinging a key carelessly around his finger.

Oh, so this encounter was no coincidence.

Finally, Hero saw it. There, on the right-hand wall was a door, its window glass boarded up. Freedom was only a few steps away.

The only problem was the man standing in front of it.

“The way I see it, we have two options here. I can let the rest of the crew in here, with you in a locked room, or…”

He paused dramatically while dread pooled in the Hero’s stomach. He continued his offer lightly, like it was of little consequence to him either way.

“You can come with me. Just me. Willingly, of course.”

A thousand questions ran through their mind—‘Why would I?’ ‘Why would you offer?’—And Hero fought to not voice them all.

Instead, they compromised, simply asking, “Why?”

“Last I checked, you’re low on moves, spy. Consider this me, throwing you a bone.”

The words ignited a helpless rage within the hero. He wasn’t wrong per se, but it was the way he chose to insinuate that they were a pitiful dog.

Though, they supposed, that was one step up from ‘rat’.

Hero kept their face carefully blank, trying hard to conceal the gears of decision turning in their brain.

They spoke, stalling for time, “And I suppose I have your word on this?”

The word of a criminal meant little to nothing to the hero. For that matter, no one’s word meant anything to Hero right now. Certainly not the word of a certain police chief.

“You can trust that I prefer to handle these things myself.”

Self interest. That, Hero could count on.

They sighed, barely audible.

“For the record, I don’t think this is the definition of willing.”

That seemed to be an answer in and of itself, but the hero still took no steps forward.

Villain’s smirk was barely visible in the dim light.

“What’s wrong? Not feeling particularly ‘eager’, Hero?” He mocked.

Hero scowled.

Saving them the embarrassment of walking towards their enemy, Villain strode over to them himself.

“How about ‘obediently’? Is that better?”

Worse. That was so much worse.

Hero could agree to being amendable, but their compliance would wear thin if he continued using language best suited to referring to animals.

Figuring a protest would only encourage him, Hero sealed their mouth shut. They expected him to grab their arm to lead them out of there, or to issue a series of commands. Instead, he pushed past them, heading towards the shouts and sounds of the scrambling crew.

Hero turned cold as he slid the key into the lock.

Their fearful confusion must have been written clear on their face, because the villain asked, “What? Gotta make it look good.”

There wasn’t enough time for Hero to process before the knob turned and enemies were pouring into the room. Angry faces fueled by the rage of a second chase barreled towards the hero.

“Don’t let them get away again!”

Now that Villain was no longer blocking the way, Hero headed for the door previously shrouded in shadow. With a click and a shove they burst out into the light of day.

Their eyes struggled with the drastic change, and they slowed to ensure they weren’t running into traffic. With a few blinks they were clear, and they spotted an alley to dart down that seemed to connect to a cross street.

Deja Vu hit them as they spotted a fire escape, and they decided not to try their luck more than once. Instead, they dodged behind a dumpster to double back behind their closest pursuer.

Hero had to assume they had, at some point, all split up, considering that only one criminal was within their sights.

He fell for the fake out, and Hero hopped over a garbage bag and took off in the other direction. They followed the street from which they came for only a block before they veered off in a new direction. Parked cars lined this avenue, and Hero picked up the pace as they passed the row next to the sidewalk. Their heart thundered against sore ribs.

Too many places to hide and strike.

In a crude justification of their paranoia, a figure leapt out from behind a tinted van, grabbing for the hero and catching their shirt in an iron grip. Hero kicked out and suddenly they were both tumbling to the ground. Their bodies smacked the pavement, but neither intended to stop their attacks.

Their shirt twisted them closer and another hand grabbed one of their arms, taking the limb out of play.

Only one arm, though.

Knuckles flew and landed right between the eyes. His body crumpled and Hero scrambled back, right into the waiting arms of the villain.

“Nice punch,” he commented, hauling them back up to their feet with a vice-like grip.

Well, at least they got to break an eye socket.

Hero’s knuckles ached as they were led around the corner. An SUV and another building awaited them, which they entered with fatigued muscles and throbbing bruises. They couldn’t help but think that tiring them out was part of the strategy at play here. ‘Willing’ was definitely a stretch, if the hand clamped around their arm was any indication.

Another safe house, another chair. This rope looked despairingly thicker, however, and the floor had been wiped clean by a more experienced captor.

Hero was not excited when said captor entered the room, leaning against the door with crossed arms and a look strangely akin to admiration on his face.

“You’re a pretty good liar, Hero,” he spoke, and it actually sounded like a compliment. “I’d like to put those skills to use.”

“You want me to work for you?” Hero laughed, despite their precarious position. A job offer was a far cry from what they imagined they’d be walking into after being discovered.

“In exchange, you’ll be protected,” the villain continued

Future tense, not conditional. Arrogant bastard.

Hero scoffed, “From who? You?”

“Among others,” Villain answered simply, evenly.

‘Others.’ Like the party hunting them down as they speak.

“I’m not the only liar here,” Hero pointed out, “you said letting the crew in was part of option one.”

“I believe I said letting them into ‘a locked room.’ It wasn’t locked, you got out.”

The confidence in his voice gave away that his phrasing was purely for show. He knew exactly what he had said.

A technically, and a boring one at that.

Well, they were already here, stuck in this impossible situation. Maybe there was a deal to be made.

Maybe, it could be sweeter than they thought.

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@atlaserine