~The Grubs, unknown~
"I already had it shipped to Echo's gang! I swear I did!" The man who preyed on a girl begged for his life, kneeling before a boy years younger than him. His eyes were bloodshot, tears running down his face as men surrounded him, closing in on his trembling form.
The boy, younger than everyone else in the room, gave a soft smile, his lips curling and his eyes bright. "How could I believe you?" he asked softly, kneeling down to peer at the man. "Those were important drugs. They're high-priced, rare, and not meant to be taken by the likes of you…" His voice suddenly dropped, low and dangerous, his eyes narrowing. "You took the purchases without my mother's notice, or anyone else's in this gang. You stole it and decided to sell it without our knowledge… putting it into the hands of someone who could overpower us."
The boy moved his hand to the side, and an older man to his right handed him a gun. The man on the floor looked up in shock, his hands rising as if to plead for mercy.
The boy ignored his pleas. A small satisfaction grew inside him as he watched the man quiver beneath him. "You've done something stupid and unforgivable. So you're no longer needed."
"No—no, please!—" His shouts fell on deaf ears as a gunshot rang through the small warehouse filled with dangerous criminals. The boy lowered the gun, watching the man drop dead, blood pooling from his now-emotionless eyes. The men whispered among themselves, spitting and mocking the corpse on the ground.
The boy turned at the sound of his phone buzzing. Pulling it out, he felt a small flicker of excitement at the thought that it might be his brother. It was only his mother, who had texted a warning to "get rid of the snitch, or Pierce will find out," making him roll his eyes.
He texted back a short reply, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and looked up at his men, motioning toward the lifeless body. "Get this cleaned up. We're inviting a guest."
"Must be important if you want it spotless, huh?"
"Maybe the boss got himself a pretty lady?"
"He's never had a girlfriend—why would he start now?"
"Maybe Pierce is coming over?"
"Hey, don't mention him! The boss is on edge, man!"
The bickering faded into background noise for the boy. He pulled his phone back out to text someone an invitation for smokes. His men dragged the body away as he dialed the number. Rings echoed off the walls while the others scattered to their own business, until finally, the caller picked up.
"Why are you calling me this time?" Mercy asked, her tone annoyed.
"Hey, you're not busy, are you?" Felix's chirpy voice came through the phone. "I've got some information you'll want to hear."
Silence followed, then the shuffle of feet before Mercy finally spoke. "Where are you?"
Felix smiled proudly, settling into his seat with his legs crossed, unable to hide his excitement. "I'm at the grubs, by the lake."
"You mean the warehouse Pierce's mother uses to store her deals?"
The sarcasm in her voice made him stutter slightly. He hadn't expected her to know the place—only that Pierce must have mentioned or taken her there. It was a good thing, really, now that he thought about it; it meant he wouldn't have to explain everything in detail, and Mercy would accept it more easily. It would save time for the important stuff.
"If I'm coming all the way down there, you'd better have something good for me."
Her voice snapped Felix out of his thoughts. He glanced around, trying to think of what she might want. "Does… coke sound good?"
"How many people died from it?" she asked, a smirk hiding in her voice.
Felix smirked back. "Over a thousand, for sure."
"I'll be there." With that, her voice cut off as she hung up.
~Cleoi, Oxzy's apartment~
He felt his body cool as he stepped out of the shower, a towel draped over his neck, catching the water dripping from his hair. His body ached, red and blue bruises littering his chest where his broken ribs were slowly healing.
He made his way to his small room, ruffling his hair to dry it faster. The hero sorted through his clothes slowly, careful not to disturb his healing wounds. He found some soft clothing laid out on his dresser—a big brown blazer that hung loosely over his body, and a pair of black basketball shorts that wouldn't press tightly against his waist. It was the best he could wear without causing himself pain.
He sat on his messy bed, the sheets spread out, since it was Cirilla May's favorite place to be. She had tangled them further, lying on her back with her stomach to the air, beckoning her master to rub it. He obliged, chuckling softly as her purring vibrated through his body and straight to his heart.
The hero felt buzzing from the side of his bed. Turning, he saw his phone had an incoming call from the sheriff. He couldn't help but give a soft snarl at the sight of it.
He had nothing against the sheriff for the most part; the only reason the man would be calling him was probably to scold him, to tell him what to do—that was the only reason he'd asked the hero for his "number," or what Oxzy let others believe was his number.
The hero had another phone. He used the one he had on for calling and a little personal business, giving it to girls who asked for his number. He'd get called and politely turn them down.
Now Milo was calling him, and Oxzy couldn't help but dread what he was about to hear. Picking up the phone while his other hand still softly rubbed his kitten's stomach, Oxzy accepted the call.
"Sir?"
"Hey..." The uncertain voice of the sheriff came from the other end. Oxzy stayed still, giving a few seconds for the sheriff to respond. For a second he thought the man wouldn't, until his voice came back. "Sorry, I just wanted to call and... check in... How are you doing?"
The hero was caught off guard for a second. The sheriff called for a check-up?
Oxzy cleared his throat, feeling uneasy. "I am healing," he replied shortly. "Is that the only reason you called?"
"Well—yeah, it's good that you're healing. Are you feeling better?" His voice came off almost shy, uneasy and insecure.
The hero caught the feeling dripping from his phone and into his ear. Oxzy couldn't help but ask, "Are you okay, Sheriff?"
Milo was caught off guard, his small exchange of breath audible through the phone. Oxzy couldn't tell if he was actually okay. "I'm okay. I wanted to call... to see if you were, Oxzy."
Hearing the man say his name made the hero's stomach drop. The sheriff never called him that; it felt strange having someone higher in position call him by his name.
Swallowing hard, the hero felt confusion and unease run through him. His hand stopped above Cirilla's tummy, earning a head tilt from her. "I am. Like I mentioned, I am healing quickly and could come back out by tomorrow."
The sheriff let out a sigh of relief, shuffling what the hero assumed were papers. "Th-that's good to hear..." He sighed to himself, a slight desperation in his voice. "Well, I was hoping you could meet me at the station. I have some information to discuss about the villain."
"Information?" the hero repeated. He hadn't expected the officer to want to see him in person. He never did, after any fight—any interaction with Milo was only about the villain or how to solve problems in the town. So it felt unnatural once again. The hero calmed at the thought, letting his hand rub the kitten's belly in a repetitive fashion. "Alright."
The sheriff let out an excited breath, much to the hero's confusion. "Great, we could meet at 2:00." With that, he said goodbye before hanging up.
The hero pulled the phone away from his ear, watching the caller's number fade to black. His emotions were somewhat jumbled by the interaction that had just happened. He set the phone down, pulling his knee up from the ground to tuck comfortably beneath him. He heard a small chirp from below him.
The small fuzzy rodent decided to join the two, climbing up the black sheets and running over to the kitten. The cat turned onto her side, facing the rat and her master, her nose nuzzling her friend. The two cuddled closer together, earning an "aww" from the hero. He gave a soft smile, moving slowly to settle comfortably on his bed.
He let himself rest, ignoring the small pain in his chest, and listened to the sound of his pets' snoring before drifting off.
~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
The ringing began to dim. Pierce held out his phone, looking at his contacts from the call he'd just had with his friend. The girl had hung up abruptly after saying she was out of smokes; she told him she was going to get some while telling the villain to stay home.
He didn't care, nor did he mind. Even if Mercy was lying, she wouldn't do anything against him, so he let it go. He entered his home with a grunt, looking around his small living space, and noticed his father on the couch with a few beer bottles beneath him. The villain sneered, rolling his eyes and kicking the bottles that littered his floor. His father was still knocked out. Pierce gave the man who'd barged into his home a look.
He picked up a cup from his cupboard, filling it with water before carrying it back to the sleeping man. He'd done this once as a child to test his powers; now he just did it for fun.
The villain grew flames from his palms, holding them next to the glass cup of water. Once it grew hot and began to boil, bubbles burst, splashing Pierce's bare skin. The villain gave a small smirk, moving the boiling water close to the sleeping man. Slowly, he lifted the man's arm before dropping it above the large cup.
A scream filled the small room. The man, once sleeping, jolted up in a haze, clutching his now red and steaming hand close to his chest. He whimpered, tears falling down his face as he heard his son's laughter. Looking up, the villain gave him an evil smirk, followed by a quiet warning.
Azeral whimpered, looking down and nodding his head in fear. The son looked back at him like he was a pile of garbage, growing bored before heading up the stairs to his open-roofed room.
The villain dropped onto the mattress, looking up into the deep, dark, star-filled sky. His thoughts turned into memories; he kept thinking back to Rosamee. How he would sit with her in this spot, how they would look into the sky and talk for hours about their lives.
How they would fight over things that never mattered.
Pierce's hand tightened into a fist as fire began to run up his arm. It almost burned his black shirt, but he caught himself and breathed out. He thought about Oxzy, wondering how the hero was healing. Probably already healed, he figured. The villain smiled, thinking about how soon he could fight him again.
The villain subconsciously pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his gallery. He didn't know what he was looking for, but his hand apparently did.
He stopped scrolling once his eyes landed on a picture of him and his deceased girlfriend. The photo showed them leaning against the tree outside his high school—him dozing peacefully beneath it, unaware his girlfriend was taking the picture. Her smile was big, bright, and filled with joy.
A feeling settled in his chest, squeezing in on itself, and his eyes grew hot. The villain knew this feeling all too well: sadness burning a hole in his heart. He didn't want to cry. He knew his girl was gone.
There was no point in crying for her now. Nothing would change.
Even while telling himself that, Pierce opened his contacts and touched the number beside the girl's smiling face. A sudden sound emerged from the device.
It was Rosamee's bright laugh. Her giggling was filled with mischief, her voice meant for the man holding onto the memory of that day.
"I know—I know you're gonna be mad, but it was Mercy's idea!" Her giggles rang out again. "Be mad at her! Not me, babe—not me!"
Her laughter was cut short by the sound of the phone being pulled away. "Don't blame me, asshole!" Mercy's younger voice came through. "I'm not scared of youuu! I'd like to see you come at me, fucker!"
It was clear as day that she was drunk and high. Rosamee laughed loudly, saying something in the background that offended Mercy.
The villain found himself smiling, his eyes wet, his heart filled with an empty hole. He kept his eyes closed, feeling the cold air and letting the sound of happy memories run through his mind, traveling back in time to when he was happy.
Could he be happy like that again? Without his Rosamee?
He doubted it deeply. No one could make him feel that way again. At least, that's what he believed—what he told himself, anyway.
Without his noticing, the night passed. The villain stayed in the same position, his mind completely absorbed in the voice recording. It wasn't until the sun hit his closed eyelids that he opened his eyes to the bright light.
The wind was cold and harsh. The villain forced his eyes open, looking up at the cloudy sky with the sun spilling onto his open roof. He sat up and pulled out his phone, now dead from a night spent listening to voice recordings. Irritated, he rubbed his head and groaned.
Boredom took over his mind, making him itch to do something—anything. He thought for a while, standing up in his roofed room. He paced to his wardrobe and pulled out an outfit Mercy had stolen for him a few weeks earlier. The black jeans, with stretchy rips at the knees, fit perfectly on the villain's long legs; he paired them with a black tank top.
The cold never bothered him—he could warm himself up whenever he liked. Even after dressing quickly, the villain still didn't know what he wanted to do to beat the boredom. He thought it over as he stepped down his wooden stairs, making his way into his empty living room and rather clean kitchen.
Guess this is an "apology," the villain thought, a smirk playing on his lips.
He looked through his fridge and found small amounts of food, nothing to drink. He pulled open the freezer—only packed, unappetizing raw foods. He let out an annoyed sigh. Guess he knew what he could do now.
The villain made his way outside, feeling the cold breeze hit his bare, tattooed arms. It wasn't enough to make him ignite his fire for warmth, so he ignored it. Rubble and litter crunched beneath his feet as he walked, his breath steaming white in the cold air. He kicked the trash blocking his path as he made his way to the market circle.
~Daylight, the end of the mall~
There, the villain found himself at the end of the mall, where all the expensive things in town lived. He looked around the small markets lining the outside of the mall. Some, he noticed, were open late. His eyes landed on a stall selling liquor.
Even though Pierce knew he should get food instead, he couldn't help but walk over to the intoxicating stall. The man running it lived on the Hallway side—big, overweight, and absorbed in his device while chugging a drink from his own stock.
Pierce stopped in front of the stall, eyeing the drinks and their overly expensive prices, and grabbed at least four bottles before the man could notice. When the man finally did notice his drinks being swiped, he started to shout, only to stop short at the sight of Pierce standing before him.
The villain gave the baffled man an evil smirk. "I'm taking some. I'll pay you back later—I don't have money on me." He knew the old man wouldn't try to stop him, so once Pierce had grabbed all he wanted, he turned away.
True to form, the chubby man stayed silent, sweat dripping down his red, embarrassed face. The villain ignored him, looking around for something else. His eyes landed on another stall, closed for the day, stocked with bags—some decorated, some bearing plain words.
A smile grew on his face. He moved closer before thinking twice, grabbing a plain gray bag and putting his goods inside. As he moved further down the stalls, he realized he still needed food. The food he got was only ever for one person—sometimes for a high girl, but mostly for himself.
A few more minutes of wandering, and the villain began to relax. He felt carefree, unbothered by the cameras catching him stealing or the stares of open stall owners.
But still, he was bored.
His boredom was soon shattered by a blazing, swiping sound from behind him. He stepped aside just in time to dodge an old pole swiping at his cheek. It missed, leaving only the sound of it being yanked back. The villain turned, confusion running through him at the sudden assault.
A man in his 40s stood with the pole in hand, its sharp end aimed at the villain. His eyes glared, his face red—clearly the owner of the bag stall—as he shouted and called the villain a thief.
All Pierce could do was stare back. Unknowingly, his lips curled upward, his frown shifting into a smirk. He felt laughter bubbling up, and it burst out of him, right in the angry man's face.
But he wasn't dangerous to the villain. The man stood a foot taller than Pierce, yet it didn't threaten him in the slightest. His smile never faded, even as the man charged at him.
The positions changed within a split second. The villain sidestepped, closing the distance to the older man, arms rising to grab the pole just before it pierced him. With a stronger grip on the pole, he wound it back, yanked the man forward, and swung it straight into his head.
The blow knocked the man out, sending him toppling to the ground and releasing the pole into the villain's hands. Holding it now, the villain studied the sharp end, then the other—blood beginning to pool at the stub.
Pierce thought for a second. He had a few options, but given his boredom, he chose the one that appealed to him most.
~The Grubs, Pierce's home~
The villain found himself at his fridge, putting away the frozen foods and his drinks. Blood dripped from his hands onto the kitchen floor. He rolled his eyes, having forgotten his hands were a mess. He stood up after putting everything away, washing his hands and drying them off.
The villain reached for a bottle of liquor, opened it, and chugged nearly all of it. He let out an exasperated sigh, feeling, once again, bored.
He chuckled to himself, a hollow pit forming in his chest. He'd had a little fun that morning, but now he was alone and bored out of his mind. He lay on the couch, drinking his liquor and staring up at his open roof, thinking about what to do next. He could grab his phone, now charging, and call Mercy to hang out and steal with her.
But he wasn't feeling it.
What he felt instead was a rush of excitement at the thought of the hero. He knew Oxzy would be healed by now, which meant he could play with him.
Smirking with newfound purpose, the villain rose from the sofa. With one last swig of the toxic drink, he tossed the bottle aside and made his way to the door. The weather had cooled, and even so, he changed his shirt to get rid of the blood.
Now wearing a red V-neck T-shirt, he strolled onto the streets as the sun beat down on him and the littered grubs below. He thought for a while about where the hero might be.
In truth, the villain had no idea where the hero lived. He'd tried following Oxzy a few times, but the curly-haired hero was too alert—he'd catch the villain within minutes, sparking a fight. That sounded good to the villain, except he had to catch the hero first.
He didn't know where the hero was, so he'd have to draw him out.
Pierce could go about that in a few ways. His favorite was to spark a flame.