#it feels like agesssss since i wrote something this long

[raineandsky]

#112

Villainy is at an all time low. It’s practically non-existent, and with it, the villains.

Heroes have tried hunting them down. Searched every corner of the city, every abandoned building, every dark alleyway. Something’s going on.

The agency is humming with nervous energy. Something’s happening. This is on purpose. The villains are in hiding because they’re planning something big. Where are they all? We have to stop them. They have to be somewhere.

The villains are gone for so long, the agency strung so high, the place practically explodes when a pair of heroes happen across one on their usual jaunt around the city.

The hero is in the midst of buying a coffee when they come through the doors with bright smiles and cheers of victory. The villain flails between them, screaming bloody murder, as other heroes crowd around with questions and praises. You found one? Where were they? What’s going on? Have they said anything? This is a good sign. Good job, guys. The start of the end.

The heroes continue through with their prize, others following them like a cape of praise and cheers, and the hero gets a chance to glance at the villain. A familiar face. One of the ones the hero saw frequently in the field, one they’re well acquainted with. Of course.

The superhero throws them into an interrogation room not even fifteen minutes later. The hero’s coffee is still half-full. Might as well play the optimist, considering the situation.

One of the same heroes as before brings the villain in. The villain is, to put it lightly, rabid. The hero can see the scratches on the other hero’s arms, though he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still too busy basking in everyone’s praise to care.

“Be careful,” he says cheerfully as he wrestles the villain into the chair opposite. “This one goes for the eyes.”

The villain’s never done that to the hero on the streets. Something’s going on, they can agree with that, but something’s changed.

The other hero steps back with a grin as the villain snaps at him, teeth bared like an animal, and with a quick thumbs up to the hero he turns on his heel and leaves them alone with the villain.

Rage is not an emotion the villain has ever expressed outwardly. Anger, sure, but not quite this raw. They yank their hands desperately to try and free themselves, the chair they were put in already tipped over. The table jolts with the force, and the hero’s half-full coffee tips over and onto the floor.

The hero can only think to watch. They’re not going to get anything out of them like this. They’ll wait for the villain for them to tire themself out.

After ten long minutes, it’s clear that isn't an option. Where are they getting all this energy from? They’ve been in the agency before, back when they were amateur enough to get caught, and they were never this frantic. They sat quietly, answered the questions the hero threw at them, and casually broke themself out that same night.

“[Villain]—”

“Let go of me!”

The villain’s breath is haggard, their arms shaking with the effort, but they haven’t stopped. The hero’s confusion is turning into worry incredibly fast.

“[Villain],” they try, carefully, tentatively. “Where is everyone?”

The villain’s eyes snap up to them like they’re seeing them for the first time. The first thing the hero notices is that it’s not rage in their face—it’s terror.

The hero holds their hands out pacifically. “You’re okay,” they continue. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The fear gets quickly masked by a layer of hatred. “Let go of me.”

The words come out calmer, quieter—seething. The villain looks like they’d break the hero in half given the opportunity. “Let go of me,” they repeat—and then, a little softer, “you have to.”

The hero’s heart pulls. A hint. Something to go off.

“Why would I do that?”

The villain’s pulling has slowed, their entire body leaning back against their cuffs. They sag slightly, exhausted, their eyes dropped to the table. “You have to.”

Less helpful a second time. The hero gets to their feet, glancing at the mirror to the side of the room. “I’m going to take them back,” they tell it, to the superhero inevitably on the other side. “We’re not getting anything out of them today.”

“No!” The villain cringes away when the hero reaches for them like they’re coming at them with a knife, and they almost throw themself back to their frenzy. “Don’t touch me!”

The villain kicks a foot out and misses, thankfully, as the hero cautiously edges into their space. The hero reaches forwards to detach the villain’s cuffs from the table, and as if the action makes something crack, the villain lets out a grief-stricken sob.

The hero steps back before they can stop themself, alarmed. The villain turns their face away with another choke of a cry, pushing themself as far away from the hero as the table will allow. “Let go of me,” they say again, but it’s not angry anymore. It sounds defeated. Scared.

The hero moves past them and they lurch back like they're contagious, watching nervously as the hero carefully sets the chair back upright. “Sit down,” the hero says gently.

They nudge the chair towards the villain. The villain stares at it for a moment, letting the first streaks of tears paint their face, before they give in and sit. The single motion is laboured, tired—how long have they been fighting back for?

“If you tell me what’s going on,” the hero prompts carefully, “we might be able to think about letting you go.”

“N– No, I have to go now. Before it’s too late.” Another hint, another step in the right direction. The hero glances at the mirror.

“That isn’t an option, [Villain], you know that.” The hero settles back in their own chair. “If you tell us what’s happening, though, we might be able to help you.”

The villain shakes their head shortly. “I can’t,” they mumble, and it comes out entirely heartbroken.

“Well,” the hero starts slowly, “let’s start with what you can tell us.”

The villain hesitates, but after a moment they nod, slight, barely perceivable. The hero nods too—a step in the right direction. The first hint in the giant puzzle that is everything.