You, The Villain, Faked Your Death And Started Over Years Ago. But You Never Expected The Hero To Stumble

Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

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A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.

God, I just love these little pink munchkins and this tired lil rodent mom

It's hard being a single mom of four to eight kids (she's bad at math)

Also self imposed design challenge to design an infant rodent that doesn't look like eraserhead baby

Hello. I heard you wanted ideas for a snippet so here I am.

Why not write about a supervillain inviting the hero to a dinner to a fancy restaurant. The hero would accept and he would be either dumbfounded or happy to be treated well (or any feeling you would like but something strangely positive). The supervillain would be a gentleman, the hero would be able to eat what he truly wants and not what is cheaper (broke hero perhaps?)…

I feel like I’ve been super specific already so I hope you enjoyed the prompt and if you pick this prompt, hopefully you’ll have a good time writing it.

Dinner with the Villain

This was so fancy to write lol, I love how it was more specific. I hope this is what you had in mind.

Warnings: Poor living conditions

The hero stood outside the restaurant, staring up at the glowing sign with a mix of disbelief and apprehension. Le Clair de Lune was the kind of place they’d only ever seen in movies—crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, waiters in tailored suits. Not exactly the kind of spot you’d expect to be invited to by your arch-nemesis.

But here they were, clutching the embossed invitation in their hand, the words “Join me for dinner. 8 PM sharp. No capes.” scrawled in the villain’s elegant handwriting. They’d almost thrown it away, convinced it was some kind of trap. But curiosity—and the gnawing hunger that came with living on instant noodles—had won out.

The moment they stepped inside, a waiter greeted them with a polite smile. “Ah, you must be our guest of honor. Right this way.”

The hero followed, their boots squeaking awkwardly on the polished floor. They felt out of place in their patched-up jacket and scuffed jeans, but the staff didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did, they were too professional to comment.

The villain was already seated at a table near the back, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than the hero’s entire apartment. They looked up as the hero approached, a smirk playing on their lips.

“You came,” the villain said, their voice smooth and amused. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Yeah, well,” the hero muttered, sliding into the chair across from them. “Free food is free food.”

The villain chuckled, gesturing to the menu. “Order whatever you like. My treat.”

The hero hesitated, their eyes scanning the menu. The prices were astronomical, the kind of numbers that made their stomach twist. But the villain had said whatever you like, and the hero wasn’t about to pass up the chance to eat something that didn’t come out of a microwave.

They ordered the most expensive steak on the menu, along with a side of truffle fries and a dessert they couldn’t even pronounce. The villain raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, simply sipping their wine as the waiter took the order.

“So,” the hero said once they were alone, “what’s the catch?”

The villain tilted their head, feigning innocence. “Catch?”

“Yeah. You don’t just invite me to a fancy dinner for no reason. What’s your angle?”

The villain leaned back in their chair, their smirk widening. “Can’t a villain simply enjoy the company of their favorite adversary?”

The hero snorted. “Favorite adversary? You tried to blow up my apartment last week.”

“And yet, here you are,” the villain said, gesturing to the table. “Eating my food, drinking my wine. Clearly, you’ve forgiven me.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” the hero shot back, though there was no real bite to their words. “I’m just… curious.”

The villain’s expression softened, just slightly. “Perhaps I’m curious too. We’re always fighting, always at each other’s throats. I thought it might be… refreshing to see what happens when we’re not.”

The hero didn’t know how to respond to that. They were saved by the arrival of their food, the aroma of perfectly cooked steak making their mouth water. They dug in without hesitation, savoring every bite. It was the best meal they’d had in years.

The villain watched them eat, their expression unreadable. “You know,” they said after a moment, “you don’t have to live like this.”

The hero paused, a forkful of steak halfway to their mouth. “Like what?”

“Like you’re always one paycheck away from disaster,” the villain said, their voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re a hero. You save lives. And yet, you can’t even afford a decent meal. It’s… tragic.”

The hero set their fork down, their appetite suddenly gone. “What are you saying?”

The villain leaned forward, their eyes gleaming. “I’m saying you deserve better. And maybe… I can help with that.”

The hero stared at them, their mind racing. This had to be a trick. Some kind of manipulation. But the villain’s expression was sincere, their offer genuine. And for the first time, the hero wondered if maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to do this alone.

“Why?” they asked finally. “Why would you help me?”

The villain smiled, a rare, genuine smile. “Because even villains have their soft spots. And because… I think you’re worth it.”

The hero didn’t know what to say to that. So they didn’t say anything. They just picked up their fork and kept eating, the weight of the villain’s words settling over them like a warm blanket.

For the first time in a long time, they felt… hopeful.

Masterlist

New Year's Day

"I don't matter," the hero said, hollow.

"Of course you do. You've saved so many people," the civilian argued. "You've done so much."

"You've known me for 15 years," the hero whispered. "What day is it today?"

"New Year's?" The civilian asked, a note of confusion. The hero huffed a breath. Nodded.

"Well, I should get going," civilian said. "Chin up, okay? You look better when you smile."

The hero watched them leave. Stared at the falling snow with detached interest.

A click. The barrel of a gun brushed the back of their head.

"Well, well, well," the villain said. "You should be out celebrating, darling. Not brooding on some snow-covered bench."

"Can you get to the threats?"

"Touchy today," the villain said. "Down on the ground." "There's snow on the ground," the hero said. "Can we skip that and go straight to the kidnapping?"

"Well, fine," the villain sighed. "Since it's your birthday."

"What's that?"

"It's your birthday. Get in the van."

The hero paused and turned.

"You think these bullets are blank?" The villain pressed the barrel to their temple. "Get in."

The hero laughed. High-pitched, a little bitter.

The villain was getting angry now. "What's so funny?" They snap.

"You're the only one who knows it's my birthday," the hero said.

"It's New Years Day. How could anyone forget that?!" the villain sneered, a little flabbergasted.

The hero shook their head and got in the van. After the interrogation, after the threats and the monologue and the random tangent about Christmas commercialism, the villain brought them a cake.

An enormous cake. It was collapsing under the weight of its own hubris.

All the henchmen came out wearing party hats. They sang Happy Birthday loud and off-key.

The hero tried not to smile. Tried not to cry. Failed at both.

They sang karaoke. Danced. Played party games.

The villain patted their shoulder heavily.

"My birthday is next month, by the way. Don't forget or I'll end you."

The hero laughed.

"I'm serious," villain said. "No peppermint. I hate it."

Okay but hear me out, this could make a fun prompt:

"You made three mistakes. One more, and it's all over."

There was a reviewer or commenter who said "I always keep track of how many mistakes the protagonist makes and after three, I stop reading the story and never look back".

I think about that person pretty frequently. We read for our own enjoyment, and therefore there's no wrong way to read a book so long as you're enjoying yourself, but ... maybe I don't actually believe that. Maybe there are wrong ways to read a book, and this guy found one.

Now that his attacker was incompacitated, Alan set about making coffee. The aftermath of the fight left the kitchen a mess, so he opted to drink straight from the pot.

"I guess I should've taken you for a pessimist," the Shapeshifter huffed.

"That really is on you," Alan agreed. "You've been around what, 5 weeks at this point? You really should've known better."

"You knew for 5 weeks I was impersonating your partner?"

"Well, Bart never signed my birthday card. He also never washed the dishes."

"You made it seem like he washed them all the time! You made such a big deal about it!"

"Well, yeah. I hate washing dishes, and you were gullible."

The Shapeshifter shifted his weight to lean against the wall, positioning his bound arms and legs as comfortably as possible. "You really knew this whole time? And you didn't do anything?"

"He's dead, right? You killed him and took over his life?"

"Well... Yes. Shouldn't you be more bothered he's dead?"

Alan nodded. "Ah, well, yeah. These things happen." He poured a little something in with the coffee, swirled it, and took a swig.

The Shapeshifter grimaced at his apathy. "But, wait. You were lying about the drop point long before the birthday card."

"You think I trusted Bart? No one should be asking that many questions."

The Shapeshifter groaned. "No wonder none of the drop points had the Energy Forms. You were giving me the runaround this entire time."

Alan nodded. "Granted, you never had clearance to know they were Energy Forms. That is to say, Bart shouldn't have known to ask about them. Though, well, I only know because I don't trust my superiors."

"Oh, so you really have trust issues," the Shapeshifter snorted.

"Hey, I don't want to hear it from the guy who went buck wild and destroyed my kitchen because, what, I tipped you off that I knew you weren't my partner?"

More silence. "You're not even going to ask why I want them?"

Alan took a deep breath. "Maybe in the morning. It's 3am and I don't have it in me to listen to your monologue right now."

The Shapeshifter huffed. A wall clock ticked audibly. Who kept a wall clock anymore?!

"So, you going to turn me in?" The Shapeshifter asked.

Alan blinked slowly at him. "Well, yeah, I guess I have to now. You had to go and attack me, so yeah."

"You don't want revenge for your partner?" The Shapeshifter asked uncomfortably.

Alan groaned. "What, you want me to kill you too or something? I'm already facing enough paperwork as it is."

"Did you even like your partner?" The Shapeshifter pressed.

"Not as much as you, apparently," Alan griped. He stared down at the empty pot of coffee sadly, and set it down on the table. The table slowly tipped, the legs loose and uneven, and the glass slid off to the floor and shattered. Alan nudged at the broken shards of glass with his toe absently, and then sighed resolutely. "He was always snooping around in my desk and ratting me out for things that weren't anyone's business. Guess I kept to myself too much for his liking. Or maybe he just didn't like what he found."

"Now I have to listen to your monologue?" The Shapeshifter snarked.

"You can't ask a bunch of questions and complain about answers," Alan chided. "Anyways, I guess what I'm saying is I'll miss you as a partner. Besides the whole killing and betrayal thing, you weren't half bad."

The Shapeshifter really didn't know what to say to that. Frankly, what was there to say? "I hope you work on your trust issues, buddy," the Shapeshifter tried.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. No one's allowed at my house anymore."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"You better hope my insurance covers these damages."

The Shapeshifter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seek therapy."

"You… Expected me to betray you from the start?" "Look. At this point I just asume that everyone is going to betray us and I am just pleasently surprised when I am wrong."

Hey! I love your writing so much. I think I read almost all of your stories.

I was wondering if you could write an angst to comfort story with a henchman who made a minor mistake and is absolutely freaking out because their previous boss didn’t allow for mistakes and the Supervillain and current leader would comfort them?

I think it would be so cute!

Bonus point if the henchman is ruthless in fights and normally very stoic and cold.

I hope you have a nice and once again, I love your writing ❤️

A Misplacement

Henchman braced as Supervillain swept into the room, their grandiose presence seeming to bring everyone in the office into a more upright posture. The henchman stood impassively with their hands clasped and head slightly bowed, awaiting any orders that might be heading their way after the rather dramatic entrance.

“Henchman. Grab Hero’s file for me, will you?”

Henchman knew a command when they heard one, just as they had been prepared for.

“Yes, sir.”

Supervillain brushed by, still speaking as they walked.

“You can stop with that ‘sir’ nonsense. I respect the dedication, but you could really stand to lighten up a bit. It’s Supervillain,” their boss called, rounding the corner into their private office before Henchman had a chance to retort.

It would take more than that to trip Henchman up. They knew the rules, and ‘sir’ was just the tip of the iceberg.

Fight well, follow orders, and keep their head down. That’s all Henchman knew how to had to do. The trap of casualness was not one they would be falling into anytime soon.

They walked briskly to a cabinet against the wall and jingled a small set of keys from their pocket. They found the correct one almost automatically and went straight for the initials they knew Hero would be filed under. They dug past a few folders, brow creasing as they passed the suspected location. Semi-frantically, Henchman pulled out two other drawers, digging through those too to no avail.

Henchman froze. Hero’s file. It was gone.

Numbly, their gaze shifted across the room to the shredder that they had used yesterday to purge some older files at the request of their supervisor. Their hand shook as they closed the drawer of the filing cabinet.

Follow orders, until they can’t. Then it becomes, accept what comes next.

Blankly, they stepped towards their superior’s office. They paused at the door, shoving all their thoughts down into a tiny box they sealed shut with the mental equivalent of an excessive amount of duct-tape.

They could face the punishment. They always could.

The door opened with a click and Henchman allowed their jelly-filled legs to carry them into the center of the room, stopping there and reassuming the stiff posture and clasped hands that they reserved solely for moments spent in the presence of their boss.

“You can just set it on the desk,” Supervillain voiced dismissively, not looking up from the task at hand, which seemed to be signing some papers spread out in front of them. When no file placed itself on their desk, Supervillain rested their pen and questioned, “Is there something else?”

When they received no response, the supervillain lifted their head and immediately took notice of their employee’s current state.

“Henchman, are you alright?”

Supervillain had risen from their large leather arm chair and was now heading towards their subordinate.

“You just look a little pale. Come, sit down will you?”

They grabbed Henchman by the shoulders and led them to sit down in the chair that they had just occupied.

They hadn’t so much as touched the cushion before the words started to spill out of their mouth, lacking the usual curtness Supervillain had grown used to during Henchman’s lengthy employment.

“The file. I’m sorry. I must have misplaced it yesterday with some old papers. It’s not an excuse,” they added hurriedly. “I know and I understand that you need to-“

Their boss shot observant eyes to Henchman’s hands, which they had unknowingly started wringing in their lap.

“Is that what this is about? The file?” Supervillain questioned incredulously.

Their stoic, ruthless fighter who had never been anything but absolutely dependable on the battlefield was now ashy as a ghost and squirming after being asked to deliver a file.

“I messed up. I know the consequences-” Henchman explained almost robotically before their boss cut them off.

“Consequences? Henchman, we can just print another one. They’re saved in the cloud. It’s no big deal. It takes, like, two minutes. I know the printer is slow but it’s certainly not worth crying over.”

Crying? Henchman would never-

Oh. There was liquid trailing down their cheek now, running from the corner of their eye to the bottom of their jaw.

Oh no. Their boss would never forgive them for this.

Their boss, who was-

Henchman braced for sharpness, but Supervillain met them with nothing but soothing words.

“Breathe, Henchman. Breathe.”

Supervillain still had them by the shoulders, but now they were in front of them, kneeling and modeling deep breaths with their whole body and maintaining eye contact with a completely frozen Henchman.

“Are you breathing? I don’t hear anything.” Supervillain shook them gently and their employee finally took one big breath in without breaking the rigid professional composure they were still so desperately clinging to.

“That’s it.” Supervillain encouraged, signaling them to release the breath with an exaggerated deep sigh through slightly pursed lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Henchman’s facade broke with a loud, hiccuping sob.

At that, Supervillain wasted no time smothering them with a tight hug, holding on for long enough that Henchman was able to stop hyperventilating and start matching the pace of the lungs pressed up against them.

Only when Henchman’s face started to burn hot with embarrassment from their situation did their superior finally pull away, but only far enough to look them in the eye as they spoke.

“You transferred from Villain’s office, correct?”

Henchman nodded in confirmation, sniffling quietly and averting their eyes.

“Ah, I see.”

Supervillain went right back into the embrace and continued it for as long as Henchman let them.

A few tissues and a short talk on acceptable treatment of workers later, Supervillain eventually exited their personal office, entering the greater office area and addressing the first worker that they encountered.

“Other Henchman, pull Villain’s file please. Send me the address.”

Other Henchman nodded, immediately sliding their chair over to the nearest filing cabinet and beginning to thumb through the labels in the drawer.

“Got it,” Other Henchman signaled by waving a file in the air, already typing out a message on their computer.

“I think it’s time I pay someone a visit,” Supervillain declared as they sauntered out the doors, their phone dinging with what was undoubtedly the location of their newest nemesis.

CW: Death

but this advice lives in my mind rent-free

some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.

it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:

doing it wrong:

She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.

doing it right:

Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.

Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.

This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.

Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:

She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.

Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:

She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.

Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.

“I don’t know how to reconcile that my favorite piece of media was made by someone awful.” Because they’re a shitty person who made something good. It’s not that rare of a phenomenon. Shitty people make good things everyday. A piece of art being made by a terrible person does not make its effect null and void and making good art does not redeem a terrible person. People who are irredeemably nasty can say something true and honest on occasion. To reevaluate a work after finding out more about the artist’s horrendous biases and actions and still find things that are honest and true even when consuming it through a critical lens, that is a beautiful thing. If the artist’s actions and words completely destroy it for you and distort the meaning you once found, it’s okay to feel a sense of mourning and loss at that.

This is not to say that you should continue to lavish social and financial capital on the artist because you enjoy their art but to say that enjoying art made by horrible people does not mean you are in some way unclean.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The Beast (Part 4)

The soft hum of cooling fans and the clacking of keys were the only sound in the small and dimly lit room. A CCTV feed trained on a small kennel displayed on a screen in the far corner. The villain glanced over at the first sign of movement.

Their patient was waking up, but they would have to wait. The villain was on the verge of a discovery.

Their patient's blood had been genetically modified. Expertly, gorgeously. Though the effects seemed to be leveling out over time, their muscular growth was abnormally rapid. Any small injuries showed accelerated healing.

The growth affected their larynx, unfortunately. Given the patient was able to preserve a certain level of cognition, other organs adjusted appropriately...

Loss of speech was a... Strange side effect.

The bones and muscles were proportionately mutated, practically symmetrical. Organs matched the rapid growth of the body. Their patient grew into a theoretically sustainable form. The fact that they survived at all was a miracle.

Their patient might not be so lucky if they attempt to revert back.

Whoever was responsible did not stop at one. The mutation was much too precise and refined. This was a team and decades of research. Money.

So, who had the resources for this kind of human experimentation?

The MRI offered something of a clue. A small device, implanted at the base of the patient's skull. Whoever set this transformation into motion expected the patient to roam free. The villain extracted the device too late, well over 24 hours. It was active.

Someone would come to collect their experiment soon.

The villain best prepare for their guest.

-

The hero paced the kennel with growing panic. They had misjudged the villain's capacity for harm, clearly. They kept running their hands along the stitches on the back of their head.

Breath in. Breath out.

They needed a plan of escape.

The floor and walls were solid concrete. Thick iron bars reenforced the door. There was a small gap between the door and floor. A much larger gap between the iron bars and the ceiling. Not large enough to squeeze through.

The first rule of imprisonment, find your captor's motive. Their eyes flicked to the CCTV trained on their kennel. There wasn't enough room to escape, but their inhumanly long claws could reach the camera.

They smiled devilishly. If their captor wanted to spy, they'd have to work for it. They climbed up the iron bars and reached for the small camera. Their claws clamped around the device, and they yanked.

Wiring crackled as the connections snapped.

They threw the camera on the concrete as hard as they could. Surprisingly sturdy.

Good.

They grabbed the camera and beat it against the ground, over and over, until it cracked into was a mess of circuitry and plastic. They imagined the villain's skull.

Shouting down the hall, followed by a loud THUD.

Silence.

The hero readied themselves to lunge, but they stopped short.

Their breath caught at the unexpected figure before them.

"Hero, it's me. I've come to save you."

The hero sobbed in relief.

Superhero.

AN// Thank you so much for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things @whump-till-ya-jump @jumpywhumpywriter @galaxysmask !!!