When the Weak Are Made Strong

1

I was cuffed, confined to a too-small steel chair, immobile. They were making a mockery out of me while they could. It was their way of telling me that whether I liked it or not, I was now theirs. They were displaying their dominance, delighting in the fact that they had finally captured me. They failed to mention, however, that it had taken them four years to bring me into custody, and even then it was on my own terms. But let them think what they want. It'll only make it all the easier to leave this place when they bring their guard down. For now, I'll play by their rules. For now, I'll be their perfect little puppet.

Reporters armed with cameras danced around me, some peppering me with questions, others continuing with their silent work, taking only occasional glances in my direction as if to analyze my every movement. I did not doubt that they were, and I wasn't about to blame them. After all, not many would pass up the chance to prod into the life of the world's most infamous supervillain, no matter how many times I wished they would.

"What made you want to take over the world?"

"What do you have against heroes?"

"What is your take on the death of Lunar, notorious supervillain and criminal mastermind crushed by the Hopefuls and executed live in the public square?"

"Are you aware that the bombing of Port Avonlis killed over one thousand innocent passer-byers as well as world-renowned heroes Avalanche and Reminisce?"

"Sir, do you ever regret any of your actions?"

"No."

Everyone went silent. They looked at me imploringly. The silence went unbroken for several minutes until one dared to speak.

"What do you mean by no, sir?"

I followed the sound of the speaker's voice until my gaze fell upon a scrawny young man, probably in his twenties, with raven black hair and chestnut brown eyes which were concealed behind the thick frame of his glasses. Upon meeting his eyes, the man flinched and took a tentative step back. I frowned at this. They were always afraid, even when I didn't pose a threat. They refused to trust anyone associated with the Degenerates. That's what they called supervillains, although the Degenerates were a secluded group, and many supervillains chose to work solo. The heroes were dubbed the Hopefuls. I've never seen any hope in them, but then that wasn't my job to decide. However, it proves rather difficult to find hope for the very people who captured you for some insensitive reason and allowed nonsensical reporters to shower you with unwarranted questions.

"Sir?" the man asked again, although this time he sounded more like a mouse.

I blinked, snapping back to the present. "I mean no," I explained irritably. "No, I do not regret any of my actions."

There was another long, uninterrupted silence, but I could almost hear the thoughts running through their heads.

What kind of question was that? Of course he couldn't care less.

What else could have been expected? He's a ruthless killer.

I knew the rumors were true. He really is merciless.

And although I knew the comments were entirely imagined, I couldn't stop myself from believing them.

I am ruthless.

Reckless.

Mindless.

Madness.

Unstoppable but not unbreakable.

Invincible but not impossible.

I shouldn't even be alive.

But I am, and there's no way out of it.