You didn’t expect this part of the city to feel so. empty. The kind of quiet that presses in from all sides, like the streets themselves are holding their breath. The broken neon sign above an abandoned print shop blinks lazily, buzzing like an insect trapped in glass.

The scent of damp ink still lingers, even though this place hasn’t been operational in decades. A strange, papery rustle reaches your ears, light but distinct. You pause mid-step, heartbeat jumping. It sounds like pages fluttering in a wind that doesn’t exist. No draft stirs your hair. No breeze tugs at the tattered newspapers clinging to the sidewalk.

Then you see it: a slip of paper sliding across the street like a ghost. Not tumbling randomly like litter, moving with intent. You swallow hard, scanning the shadows, and then a voice, dry and cutting like the edge of a sharp fold, slices through the silence.

“Funny thing about paper... So light, so harmless. Until it cuts deep!"

Your head jerks toward the source, the Paper Man. A villain forgotten by time... Until now.

“First impressions matter,” he says with a smile as thin as a razor crease. “But I suppose you already knew that, didn’t you... hero? Did Wonder Woman send you?”

His tone drips disdain at the last words, and something cold coils in your stomach. You take a slow breath, trying to steady your voice.

“You’re making a comeback, then? What’s the plan—fold the whole city into a paper swan?”

He laughs, a dry sound like brittle pages crumpling in a fist. Then the alley erupts with movement. A paper plane Horace turns in just cut through the shadows with a hiss. You barely dodge him first, instincts screaming as another grazes your sleeve, leaving a razor slice in the fabric.

You hit the pavement, roll behind an overturned newsstand, heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. His voice follows you, soft, coaxing, almost tender:

“They all forgot me. All of them. But you—you’ll remember. Heroes always do when the ink stains their hands!"