#114
The last thing the hero remembers is someone shoving them into a white van—and frankly, with a last memory like that, they’re expecting to wake up in a grimy jail, or maybe some weird torture basement.
What they aren’t expecting is to wake up in an actual bed, in an actual room. There’s actual windows, for god’s sake, and unbarred. They woke up ten minutes ago, and spent about six of those minutes revelling in how comfortable the bed is before realising they should at least try to get out.
They're in the midst of fiddling with the latch on the window—conveniently impossible to open, they notice—when the criminal behind this weird situation decides to make an appearance.
“Good to see you awake,” the villain says cheerfully, then, with a little more apprehension, “and on your feet.”
The hero at least has the courtesy to stop trying to break out. “What the hell do you want, [Villain]?”
The villain’s bright smile doesn’t move. They carefully shut the door behind them. “I don’t want anything. I’m doing you a favour.”
From the lavish bed and actual walking space in here, the hero can kind of see that. “I seriously doubt you are doing me a favour.”
“When was the last time you slept in a bed that comfortable?”
A long time ago. The hero can even barely remember. It feels like they’ve always been a hero. Always been a little uncomfortable. “Last night, thank you very much.”
The hum the villain gives that is so disbelieving it’s painful. “I don’t like the agency,” they say after a moment, “and as a result I didn’t like you. I just kind of… bunched you in with them.”
“Well, yeah.” The hero shuffles awkwardly. “Probably because I work for them.”
“But exactly! You know I hate the modern working world.” The villain smiles, like everything is obvious. It’s really not. “I saw you as an equal to the agency, but you’re not, are you? You’re under them.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
The villain’s not done. “You’re on their whim. You’re not an ally to them, you’re a victim.”
There’s a long silence in which the hero tries valiantly to process what the villain just said. “I think you’re a little confused, [Villain], I’m not—”
“When did you last have any free time? Enjoy life? See friends? I bet the agency doesn’t let you have friends.”
“I have friends!”
“Yeah? Who?”
“There’s… heroes.”
“Hm.” The villain smirks. “Only allowed to hang out with people they approve of, then.”
The hero returns that with a scowl. “Look,” the villain continues gently, “you can do a lot better than the agency. You’re better than all of this.”
“I’m not becoming a criminal.”
“I’m not saying that.” The villain shifts their gaze to the window the hero was just trying to open. “I’m just suggesting… I don’t know. Go do something that actually puts some good out there.”
“And you’re telling me this, of all people.”
The villain laughs at that. The hero smiles too—it is weird to get a morality lesson from someone who notoriously doesn’t have any. “Hey, you do the good stuff and I’ll stick to the bad stuff. Only good if there’s bad and vice versa, right?”
The villain opens the door, clearly considering their point made. “You really think the agency’s that bad?” the hero blurts.
“I don’t think there’s anything worse.” The villain idly runs their hand over the grooves in the door handle for a moment. “You have a lot of potential, [Hero]. I think I’d like to see what it’s like to fight you in your prime rather than as the agency’s lapdog.”
The hero nods sagely. “This is for personal gain, then.”
“Of course it is!” The villain grins. It’s a lot more genuine than their usual victorious smirk. “Everything I do is for personal gain, you know that.”
The hero can’t help but smile gratefully as the villain shuts the door behind them. Maybe they can think on it. Maybe they can consider their options, here, in this lovely little room that's more than they’ve had in years.
If giving the hero a nice bed and a beautiful view is for personal gain, then the villain should be selfish more often.
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