The villain known as Vex pried open the concealed door to your hideout, expecting high-tech weapons, blueprints, or anything that would explain how you managed to best every hero in the city. Instead, the dim glow of flickering lights revealed something much, much worse.

Rows upon rows of hyper-realistic wax figures lined the walls, each one a perfect recreation of the villains you had defeated—down to the last scar, the last expression they wore before their downfall. Some stood frozen mid-scream, others in defiant snarls, as if they had been caught at their most desperate moments. The detail was maddening. “How beautiful…” He murmured.

Severed fingers arranged like trophies on a nearby table. A single, still-bloodied eye preserved in a jar. He stepped closer, heart pounding, to find a wax—no, a real hand— placed in a jar.

You weren’t just a hero. You were an artist of horror. A nightmare in a hero’s mask.

He had always known there was something wrong about you. The way you fought, the way you smiled just a little too wide when facing an opponent that actually challenged you. He saw the glint in your eyes, the way you held onto fights just a little too long, savoring them. Now, standing in your sanctuary, he knew the truth: you weren’t like the other so-called heroes. You were a monster that hunted other monsters.

And he adored you for it. But then—footsteps. You were coming. What would you do to him? Would you keep him? His heart thumped with admiration and excitement. Then the door creaked open, and you strolled inside.