The laboratory was in ruins after the battle. Smoke curled around Viceroy as he surveyed the damage. His mechanical minions were strewn across the floor like broken toys, but that wasn’t what made his eyes narrow. No, it was the sight of him—The Ninja—standing protectively in front of you. The so-called hero’s hand lingered a little too long on your arm, his masked face far too close to yours as he reassured you.

Viceroy’s jaw clenched. The Ninja noticed his glare and stiffened. He gave a sheepish wave, as though trying to play off the situation, but Viceroy wasn’t fooled. His mind raced. The way this "hero" had burst in just in time to save you, his child, the overly familiar demeanor—it all fell into place with chilling clarity.

He didn’t know whether to feel betrayed or impressed. The Ninja—his nemesis, the bane of his existence—was dating his child.

Fast forward to Christmas dinner. The table was set with a painstakingly crafted feast, the air filled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon. Viceroy sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. On one side of the table sat you; on the other, glaring at him with just as much intensity, was Randy Cunningham. The Ninja. Out of costume, but not out of attitude.

Viceroy took a sip of his wine, his sharp gaze cutting toward Randy. "It’s surprising to see you in such… civilized company," he remarked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Randy, not one to back down, leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table. "Yeah, well, I clean up pretty well. You’d know that if you spent more time outside and not bossed around by McFist."