I didn't plan to become a villain.
No, really. I know every psychopath says that right before punching a hole through a nun, but I mean it.
It started with a meeting.
The worst kind of meeting—the "mandatory morale check-in" kind. At Hero HQ.
Or as they insisted on calling it:
"The Spire."
Insert dramatic lightning bolt and orchestral sting.
Yeah. That's what they named our headquarters. Like we were a boy band made of spandex and trauma. "The Spire." Sounds like a mobile game ad with too many glowing swords and not enough therapy.
Anyway, I was late. Not because I was saving lives or anything noble like that. No, I stopped at a food truck that only serves breakfast burritos the size of your forearm. Worth it.
I walk in, burrito in hand, and everyone's already seated around the U-shaped table like it's a United Nations cosplay party. There's Titania, the feminist warhammer. Dr. Quantum, who won't shut up about string theory. And of course, Valor—our fearless leader, America's answer to constipation in human form.
Valor stands. "Sentinel," he says, voice dripping with righteousness and unprocessed protein powder, "You're late. Again."
I take a massive bite of burrito, wipe my mouth with the back of my glove, and say, "Yeah. I stopped to save a kid from choking. On a burrito, funnily enough. Tragic, huh?"
Lies. But they eat that stuff up.
"We've had reports," he continued, "that during your last mission, you used excessive force on a suspect."
"Which suspect?" I ask.
"The one who can't walk anymore."
Ah. That guy.
Look, in my defense, he had a flamethrower and the moral compass of a used car salesman. I may have... tripped him. From the sky. Onto concrete. At Mach 2.
Titania folded her arms. "We're supposed to inspire hope. Not fear."
I raised an eyebrow. "Fear works faster."
Dr. Quantum chimed in, pushing his glasses up his nose like he was about to scold me with a math equation. "You're straying from the ethical core of the charter. If we don't follow the code—"
"Then we're just effective," I snapped. "Efficient. Real."
I looked around the room. Blank stares. Disappointment. Fear. You'd think I showed up with a human skull in my lunchbox.
That's when it hit me:
They were never on my level.
They didn't get it. Couldn't get it. These people still thought they were saving the world one press conference at a time.
Me? I stopped pretending.
So I stood up, casually, and said the words that kicked off the best chapter of my life:
"I quit."
Gasps. Valor stood like he was gonna physically stop me. Cute.
"You can't just walk away from The Spire," he said, cape fluttering like it had feelings.
"Watch me."
And I did.
I walked right out the sliding glass doors, punched a hole in the "Thank You For Saving Today!" sign on my way out, and took to the skies.
---
Later that night, I found a drug cartel's warehouse. Usually I'd do the whole "non-lethal intervention" routine. You know—mild concussions, snapped wrists, a warning glare.
But not tonight.
Tonight I turned on the charm.
"I'll give you a ten-second head start," I told them, cracking my knuckles.
They laughed.
Eight seconds later, the building was a smoking crater.
---
Back at The Spire, they called it a "massacre." Civilians may have been inside. Oops. My bad.
But me?
I called it Tuesday.
The headlines the next morning:
"Sentinel Snaps? Hero or Horror?"
They were asking the wrong question.
Because I wasn't a hero anymore.
I was something better.