Their Villians tho?

Don't fuckin touch my brother

Certainly! Below is a more detailed version of the story, focusing on enriching the narrative, dialogue, and characters while expanding the world-building and action sequences.

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The wind howled as Theseus sprinted across the rooftops, his boots thudding against the concrete with practiced precision. The icy air stung his skin, cutting through the thin fabric of his jumper, but he hardly noticed. The city lay beneath him, a sprawling labyrinth of twinkling lights and winding streets.

Slowing to a halt on the edge of a rooftop, he stood still, catching his breath. The world seemed quieter here, softer in the stillness of the night. Theseus gazed at the city, the beauty of the sleeping metropolis pulling a rare smile to his lips.

His moment of peace was shattered by a crackle in his earpiece.

“Ayup, Big Man!” Nuke’s voice boomed, making him flinch. “Ready to cause some crime tonight?”

Theseus chuckled softly, his breath misting in the cold air. “Hey, Boss Man. I’m thinking… robbing a bank tonight. Feeling lucky.”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of knuckles cracking and the rapid tapping of keys. “Bank two blocks down,” Nuke said casually.

Theseus smirked, his adrenaline surging. “Good. What’s the situation, Tubs?” he asked as he took off running again, his feet barely making a sound on the rooftops.

“Pfft—cakewalk,” Nuke replied. “Two guards and one teller. Not even worth the effort.” He let out a soft laugh, the kind that always hinted at some inside joke.

“Perfect,” Theseus muttered, leaping across a gap between two buildings. He landed smoothly, his body rolling with the impact before springing back up.

As he approached the bank, Theseus stopped just short of the edge of the final rooftop. The building stood directly below him, its stone façade illuminated by the faint glow of nearby streetlights. Two guards flanked the entrance, their faces etched with boredom.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Theseus whispered, reaching into his pouch to pull out a small, metallic sphere. He twisted the top, activating the device, and carefully rolled it toward the guards.

The sphere stopped at their feet, blinking with a faint blue light.

“What the hell is that?” one guard muttered, crouching down to inspect it.

Before he could react, the sphere beeped and detonated, releasing a shimmering cloud of glitter and acid. The guards stumbled back, screaming as the mixture burned their skin and the glitter clung to them like a cruel joke.

“Effective,” Theseus said to himself as he stepped over the writhing guards and into the bank.

Inside, the lone bank teller sat at her desk, her attention fixed on a crossword puzzle. She hadn’t even noticed the commotion outside.

Theseus pulled his pistol from its holster, the gun’s elegant design catching the light. The weapon was a gift from his mother, handcrafted with precision and care.

The teller looked up, startled, as he reloaded the gun with a practiced motion and aimed it at her.

“Where’s the money?” he asked, his voice modulated into a menacing rasp by his mask.