I shake my head in amusement after Macer leaves, wondering how he always gets himself into these situations. There's never a dull moment with him, but I love it. Being a Villain for twenty-five years makes everything else seem bland and boring. Of course, when I was a Villain things were easier than they are for him nowadays.
My gaze slides to Falcon, who's still curled up on my couch. How Lance got himself into this one, I wish I knew. He said Falcon came to him, but as I cross my arms and narrow my eyes I wonder if that's true. Why would a Hero, already antagonizing death as Macer explained it, show up at the door of his biggest enemy?
As I stare at Falcon, and as I'm looking him over critically I notice a few things that surprise me. Starting with the obvious, he's small. I noticed that before of course, but the more I look the less he looks like the Hero I see on the news and hear Macer ranting about.
I would swear his shoulders are wider when he's Falcon, or maybe that's because now he's curling them inward defensively.
His fingers aren't short, but they're delicate and look like they'd break if he punched someone as hard as I've seen him do. Macer once came back with a swollen cheek and a whole new vocabulary of curse words because of those delicate hands.
Really, his whole frame seems small. It could be natural, but the more I look the more it seems like he's... stunted. When he shifts and I'm able to see his wrists, I nod to myself. Lance would have turned out the same way if the monsters he was with hadn't been actively trying to keep his body healthy.
I frown when I see his feet, which aren't really dirty, but they're bare and I think he must be cold because of it. I lean over and touch his shoulder to wake him up. I should introduce myself now anyway.
He lets out a soft whine when I shake him, but when I chuckle in amusement he freezes. He cracks his eyes open, takes one look at me, and starts hyperventilating while scrambling to get away from me.
"Where's La-Lance?" He asks frantically, looking around and periodically scrubbing at his watery eyes. "H-He left me-me?" He sounds so genuinely distressed, there's no way this is an act like I originally thought.
I approach him slowly, only stopping a few feet away from him when he cringes away from me in fear. I put my hands on my hips and study him some more, wondering again how Lance got himself into this. I don't realize how threatening my position must look until he moves onto his knees and clasps his hands, his whole body trembling.
I step forward and tug him to his feet, then grab his hand and pull him along beside me. "I'm Lance's... friend, Amelia. You're safe here, I promise."
He's still trembling but he looks hopeful as he peeks at me. "Lance sai-said so?"
"Yes," I say, even though it's not necessarily true. I know Falcon doesn't know that Lance is Macer but even so, what could have made him trust Lance so heavily?
He pauses when I open the door to the bathroom, and I follow his gaze to the doorknob. After a moment of staring at it he finally steps into the bathroom. I watch him closely as he looks around, then flinches when he sees himself in the mirror.
There are a lot of questions I want to ask, but I brush them all off for now. I lightly touch his shoulder to get his attention again, smiling comfortingly when he jumps in fright.
"Why don't you take a shower? There are towels in that drawer there, and you can use whatever soaps or razors you need, okay?" I ask, waiting until he nods to step out of the bathroom. "Go ahead and lock the door behind me, Dear," I add, my lips twitching when he smiles shyly. He's oddly cute for such a pesky Hero.
I close the door behind me before sauntering to my living room and lowering myself into my favorite recliner. As much as I complain about Falcon being an annoying hero, I do regard him with a certain respect.
Back when I was a Villain, there really weren't any Heroes around. The police and randomly hired Hunters were expected to keep us Villains in check, and they were notoriously bad at it. They just weren't equipped to fight technologically advanced and occasionally superpowered Villains. I would know, I was one of the Originals who started it all.
Unlike most Villains, I hadn't been designed specifically to aid whatever evil organization bred me. Instead, I had worked at one for five years, discreetly gathering technology and as soon as I felt I had enough, I ran and didn't look back.
I had a bumpy start, as I was still figuring out what lines I was and wasn't willing to cross. After about two years I found my stride and made a name for myself, one that still has an aura of mystery about it. Phantom.
Originally I was called Banshee, but Phantom fit me better as I liked to carry out my tasks silently and without being seen; much as Macer does now.
Heroes were just showing up when I retired, so I didn't have to deal with them near as much as Villains do now. I respect Falcon as a Hero because as far as I can tell, he's the most powerful one yet. And to top that off, he manages to keep his morals and not crack under the pressure of the media and the multiple Villains he frequently has to battle.
Villains tend to be more powerful because we tend to have our powers forced upon us, and either we're influenced by those who do it or we're bitter and want revenge on those who didn't stop it. Heroes are the ones who choose their powers, or are sometimes even born with them.
Unfortunately, natural and healthy powers aren't as potent. It's the ones that wreak havoc on your body and leave you a shell of what you once were that hold the most power. Half the Villains in this city alone were created by the same company, then released into the streets.
Afterwards, the company was raided by... everyone. The cops were there to arrest people, after the Heroes and Hunters rounded them up. After that the Villains, who had been controlled by the company still, were left on their own. So they did the only thing they knew; they wrought havoc.
They're all approaching their thirties now, if I remember correctly. A lot of them moved on and left this city, but the ones who stayed still do their rounds occasionally.
Being a Villain has always been the most profitable option, and that's true now more than ever. I was one for over two decades and while I made a hefty amount, the Villains now only need to work for about a decade to get the same profit I did. I don't hold it against them, in fact I'm rather proud of how we've all advanced.
I've recently done my research on all the current Heroes, and I must admit I was surprised when I found Falcon's powers were fully natural. At least, so says every record I've consulted.
I haven't seen powers like his since I worked in that organization, helping take care of all the... subjects. The results were never up to standards, and when the experiments did succeed the subjects were never able to shift forms. What they would have done to get their hands on Falcon, I shudder to think.
Most Villains respect Heroes in some way, maybe not as much as I do and definitely not enough to spare their lives, but Macer has always been different. Oh sure he ranted and threatened to kill them, mostly Falcon, but he never did. I'm sure he could have, because I'm sure he's more powerful than he lets on. He never uses more of his power than he needs, and he's never needed much.
I hear the shower turn off, and wait patiently for Falcon to emerge. When he does find me in the living room, I'm mildly surprised to see his kitty ears gone.
He stands straight, his eyes brighter and more calculating as he looks around, his gaze eventually pausing on me. His hair is longer and less fluffy as it hangs damply around his face, causing him to flick his head a bit to get it out of his eyes.
Slowly, he approaches the couch and takes a seat, pulling his feet up and crossing his legs. "So..." he begins, pausing as if to remind himself what he was going to ask. "...where am I?"
"One of my rentals. Don't worry, you're safe here," I add, noting his suspicious expression and fidgeting hands.
"Hm... and how did I get here?" he questions, catching me slightly off guard. Does he not remember? I ask as much, and he frowns. "You know who I am and what I can do?" he checks, continuing when I nod. "I don't remember much from when I'm in my other forms. It's blurry and jumbled. At least, the few bits that stay with me are. Answer my question now, please."
"Lance brought you. All I know of what happened before is that his house was raided," I inform, curiously watching as his eyes go unfocused, then snap back and meet my gaze.
"Lance, huh?" He asks, though I know it's rhetorical. "I think I remember some of that," He pauses, one corner of his mouth twitching. Whether he's about to smile or frown, I don't know until he adds one last comment.
"He really does have pretty blue eyes, doesn't he."